TheMemoirs 
of  a  Baby 


Josephine 
Daskam 


[See  page  28 


PERHAPS    YOU    WANT    ME    TO    THROW    MY 
BABY    DOWN    THE    STAIRS?'" 


BY    JOSEPHINE    DASKAM 


(MRS.  SELDEN  BACON) 


ILLUSTRATED 

r.  Y.BGORY 


NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

HARPER      &      BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS         *        1904 


106234 


Copyright,  1903,  1904,  by  HARPKR  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rigkts  restrvcd. 
Published  April,  1904. 


TO 

E.  G.  J. 

STERN    GODMOTHER    OF    A    FRIVOLOUS    INFANT, 
HIS  BIOGRAPHY  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

J.  D.   B. 


V 

j 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  YOUNG  MOTHER     .     .  i 

II.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  BABY 28 

j^      III.      WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  DAWNING  SOUL     .     .  50 

H      IV.       WHICH  DEALS  WITH  ONE  LITTLE  LIFE    ...  74 

"^      V.         WHICH  DEALS  WITH  CHILD-STUDY  IN  THE  HOME  94 

v   VI.       WHICH  CONTINUES  TO  DEAL  WITH  CHILD-STUDY 

AT  HOME 114 

VII.     WHICH    DEALS    WITH    SPONTANEOUS    EJACULA- 

*> .                         TIONS 138 

**)  I 

\  '    VIII.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  MYSTERY  OF  SPEECH  159 

IX.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  SOUL  OF  THE  HOUSE 

HOLD 185 

X.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  FAMILY  DISCIPLINE  .     .     .  212 

XI.  WHICH  DEALS  WITH  THE  ABDICATION  OF  BINKS  244 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"PERHAPS  YOU  WANT  ME  TO  THROW  MY  BABY  DOWN 

THE    STAIRS?'" Frontispiece 

"POOR  HARRY!     IT  MUST  HAVE  BEEN  RUSKIN'"     ...  6 
'MARIUS  THE  EPICUREAN  MOVED  ^STHETICALLY  ON  HIS 

WAY  FOR  AN  HOUR" II 

"IF  YOU  CRY  I'LL  SHOOT  THE  EDITOR'" 13 

"AND  i  FELT  AS  IF  i  WAS  GOING  TO  DIE'".     ...  15 

'ESCORTED  TO  THE  NINTH  SYMPHONY" 20 

"FOR  HEAVEN'S  SAKE,  LET  TOOTS  ALONE!'".     ...  24 
'THE  CURLS  OF  THE  DIVINE  MESSENGER  CRUMBLED  IN 

HER  BLACK  BROADCLOTH  LAP " 26 

"MAY    i    ASK   WHAT   POSSIBLE   METHOD   TOM   HAS   OF 

DISCOVERING  WHAT  THAT  SHOWS?'" 32 

"A  CHILD  IS  MUCH  HAPPIER  WITH  ONE  SIMPLE  OBJECT 

OF  AMUSEMENT!'" 41 

'AN  ALERT  THOUGH  QUIET  INFANT  BALANCED  ON  HER 

PALMS" 47 

"MRS.  UPSON  SPILLED  HER  TEA  ON  DOT'S  HEAD'"     .  52 

'SUSY  SHOOK  HER  RESENTFUL  SON  OUT  OF  THE  BAG"     .  6l 

"COME,  DEAR!     COME  TO  AUNT  EMMA!'" 64 

'HE    THEN    RAISED    HIMSELF    WITH    A    CERTAIN    DIF 
FICULTY*'        66 

'AND  STOOD  BEFORE  THEM  ABSOLUTELY  UNSUPPORTED"  68 
"OR  ELSE  HIS  SOUL  HASN'T  DAWNED  QUITE  SO  FAR  AS 

YOU  THOUGHT'" 71 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"GONE  TO  THE  DOGS!     ALAS,  POOR  SINKS!'"     ...  75 

''WHY,  TOM  WILBOUR!     WHAT  DO  YOU  MEAN?'"     .     .  77 

'SUSY  STOOD  IN  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  ATTITUDE"     .     .  79 

'ASSUMING  AN  ORATORICAL  ATTITUDE" 81 

'THE  OBJECT  OF  THIS  CONSTANCY  RESUMED  THE  CON 
TEMPLATION  OF  HIS  TOES" 83 

"WHAT  DO  YOU  DO  WITH  IT?'" 85 

'CONCEALING  MARTIN" 97 

'BELLE   SCARLET  WITH   SUPPRESSED  RAGE   AND  AUNT 

EMMA  WRITING  BUSILY  IN  HER  LITTLE  BOOK"     .     .  106 
'HER  HAIR  GATHERED  INTO  A  PREPARATORY  HANDFUL 

AT  THE  TOP  OF  HER  HEAD*' 115 

'AND    REGARDING    THE    RESULTING    DEMURE    EFFECT 

CRITICALLY  IN  THE  GLASS " 117 

'FROM  SUSY  TO  HER  HUSBAND  THE  WHITE  LINE  CURVED"  119 
"SOME  DAY  HE  WILL  PROBABLY  BE  FOUND  BY  BELLE 

KISSING  THE  SEARS  BABY  BEHIND  THE  SOFA'"     .     .  129 
"AND  IT  WAS  ALWAYS  FOUND  ADVISABLE,  WHEN  EN 
GAGING    A    SERVANT    IN    ANY    CAPACITY,    TO     FIRST 

HAVE  HIM  SEE  THE  PERSON'" 134 

"YESTERDAY  HIS  NURSE  OMITTED  TO  PUT  ANY  COLD 

WATER  IN  HIS  BATH-TUB*" 136 

"THIS  IS  A  VERY  EXCELLENT  PICTURE,  MRS.  UPTON*"  144 

'MARTIN  WOULD  PAT  ALONG  BY  HER  SIDE"  .  .  .  .  151 

'AND  SQUIRMED  TO  HIS  FEET" 156 

'  'MARTIN  WAS  WATCHING  HIM  CLOSELY  ALL  THE  TIME'"  161 
'THE  ELUSIVE  LADLE  SLID  FROM  UNDER  THE  IMPENDING 

BULK" 164 

'IT  HAD  BEEN  A  HARD  DAY  FOR  HIM* 168 

"MISS  WILBOUR'S  SNOWBALLS'" 170 

'HE  CONFRONTED  HIS  SON" 179 

'HE    SAID    IT,    AND    HE    MEANT    IT" l8l 

viii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

'BESEECHING  HIM  TO  REPEAT  HIS  RECENT  ADDRESS"  .  183 

"YES,  YES,'  SHE  WOULD  MURMUR  ABSENTLY"  .  .  .  187 

'THE  MOTOR-CAR  AND  THE  CELERY  SQUAB"  ....  192 

"SO  MINNIE  THOUGHT  HE  WAS  CRAZY*" 198 

"AN*  BUMBY  'EM  FOUND  SOM'P'N  'EM  COULD  DO  PRETTY 

WELL!'" 203 

'WHICH  GAVE  HIM  THE  APPEARANCE  OF  A  PLUMP  AND 

TALKATIVE  SQUIRREL" 205 

'DISTINCT  AND  UNDENIABLE  RESEMBLANCE  TO  THEIR 

SOMEWHAT  ANGULAR  RELATIVE" 206 

'AND  THEY  LISTENED  THANKFULLY  TO  THE  TALE  OF 

THE  CUP  AND  SAUCER*' 209 

'STOOD  MRS.  THOMAS  WILBOUR" 214 

"AND  i  HAD  MY  HAIR  CUT!'" 217 

"  YOU'RE  A  SILLY!' SAID  MRS.  WILBOUR" 220 

'HE  CLUTCHED  THE  KNOB  WITH  BOTH  HANDS ".  .  .  224 

'LEAPED  INTO  HIS  MOTHER'S  ARMS" 233 

"IS  TO  5/7-  ON  THE  FLOOR!'  SCREAMED  MARTIN*'.  .  .  238 
'MARTIN  CONVERSED  PLEASANTLY  WITH  THE  HOTEL 

CLERK" 241 

'SUSY,  LYING  NEAR  THE  FIRE*' 245 

"JAMES  AND  HATTIE  ARE  DEAD,  DEAD,  DEAD!'"  .  .  .  247 

'HE  SNUGGLED  CLOSER"  251 

'PILOTED  HIM  ACROSS  THE  STREET  IN  A  QUIET  PLACE"  266 

"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK?'" 269 

"I'M  NOT  ANYBODY'S  BABY"' 271 


®ff 


WHICH    DEALS   WITH   THE    YOUNG    MOTHER 

'T  seemed  to  poor  Susy  that  Aunt 
Emma  had  never  loomed  so 
majestic  before  her,  that  her 
deep  voice  had  never  pealed  so 
irrevocably  through  the  house. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  she  an 
swered,  "  I — I  know  it's  a  crisis, 
Aunt  Emma.  I — of  course!" 
"  And  while  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  alarm  you, 
my  dear — for  any  alarm  in  the  present  state  of 
things  might  easily  be  fatal — at  the  same  time 
I  feel  that  somebody  ought  to  prepare  you  for 
the  fact  that  this  —  this  responsibility  may  not 
be  so  simple,  may,  in  short,  be  more  complicated 
and  greater  than  you  might  expect.  That  is  to 
say—" 

"Do  you  mean  twins?"  Susy  inquired  placidly. 
Aunt  Emma  blushed. 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"You  take  one  up  so  abruptly,  Susy!  I  don't 
know  that  I  should  have  put  it  in  just  that  way. 
I  hope  I  have  tact  enough  not  to  deliberately 
inflict  a  shock  that  -might  in  the  present  state 
of  things — 

"As  far  as  that  goes,  Aunt  Emma,  the  present 
state  of  things  doesn't  necessarily  imply  that  I 
am  utterly  imbecile,  you  know,  and  anyway,  it 
wouldn't  be  a  shock.  I  think  twins  would  be 
interesting.  It  would  be  such  fun  not  to  tell 
them  apart!" 

"Susy!" 

"Well,  it  would.  And  I'd  dress  them  in 
Russian  blouses,  with  those  shiny  patent-leather 
belts  around  their  little  tummies,  and  shiny  round 
patent-leather  hats,  and  bang  their  hair  straight 
across,  and  if  I  ever  guessed  right — which  was 
which,  you  know — I'd  punish  them!" 

Aunt  Emma's  face  expressed  that  degree  of  res 
ignation  which  imperfectly  masks  a  righteous  de 
sire  to  shake  the  object  of  it  out  of  that  object's 
shoes. 

"You  change  so  little,  Susy,"  she  complained. 
"Marriage  seems  to  have  had  no  effect  whatever. 
...  I  remember  so  well  a  conversation  we  had 
the  first  day  I  met  you.  It  was  so  characteristic. 
I  had  been  telling  you  some  of  Tom's  good  traits, 
and  then  I  mentioned  the  things  that  would,  in  my 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

opinion,  be  certain  to  make  him  a  good  husband. 
And  then  you  replied  that  it  was  very  strange,  but 
that  I  had  not  included  one  of  your  list  of  essen 
tial  qualities.  I  asked  what  they  were,  and  you 
made  me  a  reply  I  shall  never  forget,  it  was  so 
extraordinary. 

" '  Before  I  was  engaged,'  you  said,  '  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  the  man  I  married  must  satisfy 
me  in  five  points.  First,  he  must  never  tip  his 
hat  back  on  his  head ;  second,  he  must  know  how 
to  speak  to  a  waiter ;  third,  he  must  know  how  to 
order  a  dinner ;  fourth,  he  must  not  be  too  good- 
looking;  and  fifth,  he  must  have  a  full  head  of 
hair!  And  you  see  that  Tom  answers  all  these 
requirements,  which  is  certainly  very  strange,  and 
seems  to  show  that  we  were  made  for  each  other!'  " 

Susy  smiled  reminiscently. 

"What  a  memory  you  have,  Aunt  Emma!" 
she  murmured.  "  But  there  is  nothing  extraor 
dinary  about  the  five  points.  You  know  your 
self  how  disgusting  a  man  looks  with  his  hat 
tipped  back,  on  a  warm  day.  In  the  elevated 
train,  for  instance.  And  not  to  do  it  shows  a 
certain  amount  of  self-control.  It's  really  a  test 
of  character.  And  the  way  he  speaks  to  a  waiter 
gives  a  man  away  hopelessly.  He  mustn't  bully 
and  he  mustn't  cringe,  you  know.  But  the  waiter 
must  respect  him.  And  I  certainly  wouldn't 

3 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

want  to  be  known  as  the  wife  of  that  handsome 
Mr.  Wilbour — heavens !  About  the  hair —  '  Susy 
paused  reflectively.  "  I  suppose  everybody  is 
allowed  a  few  preferences  she  can't  account  for, 
Aunt  Emma,  and  that  happens  to  be  one  of  mine. 
I  do  like  a  man  with  a  full  head  of  hair!" 

Aunt  Emma  shook  her  head  helplessly.  Susy's 
character — though  she  sometimes  felt  it  the  wild 
est  hyperbole  to  refer  to  it  in  that  way — had 
consistently  baffled  her  comprehension  from  the 
day  of  their  acquaintance. 

But  no  one  who  knew  Aunt  Emma  could 
imagine  for  a  moment  that  a  comparative  and 
temporary  failure  could  induce  her  to  abandon 
any  legitimate  effort.  Even  as  she  sighed  she 
took  a  claret  -  colored  volume  from  the  library 
table  and  removed  her  paste-board  marker. 

"Shall  we  have  a  little  reading,  my  dear?"  she 
inquired. 

Susy  wriggled  deeper  into  the  pillows  of  the 
divan. 

"  I  am  all  ready,  Aunt  Emma." 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  we  are  not  going  on 
.with  the  Parkman,  Susy.  I  was  discussing  this 
matter  with  Harriet  Strenway,  and  she  sug 
gested  that  it  might  be  a  little  too  stimulating  in 
the  present  state  of  things.  All  the  battles,  of 
course.  ...  I  reminded  her  that  the  examples  of 

4 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

heroism  and  endurance,  personal  bravery,  etc., 
had  recommended  themselves  to  both  of  us, 
and  then,  too,  his  being  an  American  made  it  so 
especially  fitting.  But  as  she  says  very  truly, 
that  was  earlier  in  the  day.  Something  more 
soothing,  she  thinks,  would  be  better  now.  With 
particular  attention  to  the  style — she  herself  read 
Ruskin  almost  exclusively  before  Henry  was 
born." 

"Did  she,  really?"  Susy  jumped  to  a  sitting 
posture  among  the  cushions.  "  Oh,  Aunt  Emma, 
how  you  have  relieved  my  mind !  So  that  was  it !' ' 

"Please  don't  throw  about  so,  Susy;  you  will 
certainly  hurt  yourself  unless  you  remember  to 
use  a  little  more  control.  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Poor  Harry  Strenway !  I  always  knew  some 
thing  was  the  matter  with  him ;  you  know  he  used 
to  propose  to  me  regularly,  Aunt  Emma.  None 
of  the  girls  could  say  exactly  what  it  was,  but 
there  was  something— I  don't  know — he  never 
seemed  to  do,  quite.  It  must  have  been  Ruskin. 
Thank  heaven,  you  never  read  any  to  me!" 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Susy.  Henry  Strenway  is 
an  excellent  fellow;  I  never  could  see  why  you 
and  your  friends  made  such  fun  of  him.  And 
of  course  his  little — er — eccentricities  are  not  to 
be  attributed  to  Harriet's  reading  Ruskin  before 
hand.  It  could  make  no  such  difference." 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Couldn't  it,  though?"  Susy  argued  persistent 
ly.  "Then  if  it  didn't  make  a  difference,  why 
are  you  so  particular  about  what  you  read  to  me, 
Aunt  Emma?" 


"'POOR  HARRY!     IT  MUST  HAVE  BEEN  RUSKIN"' 

Aunt  Emma  maintained  a  discreet  silence.  It 
is  very  difficult  to  preserve  the  attitude  of  a  self- 
respecting  benefactress  towards  a  person  who  has 
no  real  interest  in  being  benefited.  As  Susy  open 
ly  expressed  a  preference  for  any  reading-matter 
illustrated  by  Mr.  Christy,  irrespective  of  the  text 

6 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

— a  statement  that  turned  Aunt  Emma  cold  with 
horror — it  was  manifestly  necessary  to  direct  her 
mind  into  channels  more  distinctly  formative. 
Hence  the  morning  readings,  the  result  of  much 
consideration  on  the  part  of  the  reader,  and  the 
occasion  of  more  or  less  politely  concealed  tolera 
tion  as  far  as  the  audience  was  concerned. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  the  Pater,  my  dear,  unless 
you  will  change  your  mind  about  the  Greek  myths, 
which  Would  really  be  the  best — 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  simply  can't  endure  them. 
We  had  to  learn  them  all  at  school,  Aunt  Emma, 
and  I  never  had  any  memory,  and  I  was  always 
getting  perfectly  dreadful  marks.  If  you  could 
only  spell  them  reasonably — but  you  can't.  I 
could  never  spell  Psyche  if  I  lived  to  be  a  thou 
sand.  It  used  to  be  Friday  afternoons  —  ugh! 
They're  so  childish,  Aunt  Emma!" 

"That  is  because  you  don't  read  them  deeply 
enough,  Susy.  They  are —  Aunt  Emma  took 
up  a  magazine,  and  turning  rapidly  to  an  evi 
dently  familiar  page,  read  in  the  didactic  tone  in 
stinctively  devoted  to  editorials: 

"—in  their  restrained  and  majestic  symbol 
ism  the  most  spiritual  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  satisfyingly  concrete  vehicle  (always  ex 
cepting  our  own  great  Christian  allegories)  for 
conveying  those  lessons  of  fortitude,  patience, 

7 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

high  purity,  and  endless  aspiration  so  necessary, 
so  inevitable  to  that  happy  expectancy  of  her 
who—' " 

"Aunt  Emma!  You  are  not  talking,  are  you? 
Because  I've  lost  track —  Oh,  it's  that  maga 
zine!" 

Aunt  Emma  resigned  herself  to  the  inevitable 
paroxysms  of  laughter  that  seized  both  Susy  and 
her  husband  at  any  quotation  from  the  magazine 
in  question.  It  was  called  The  Young  Mother, 
and  as  Susy  obstinately  refused  to  subscribe  for 
it,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  bring  her  bad 
luck,  Aunt  Emma  took  the  responsibility  upon 
herself,  and  tore  off  the  wrapper  at  the  break 
fast-table  once  a  month,  stoical  under  the  run 
ning  fire  of  satiric  criticism  that  a  comparison 
of  her  very  evident  middle-aged  singleness  and 
the  touching  title  of  the  magazine  so  obviously 
invited. 

From  this  mine  of  suggestion  she  would  pro 
duce  the  most  amazing  rules  and  regulations  for 
the  guidance  of  her  nephew's  wife,  notably  the 
system  of  improving  reading,  and  the  scarcely  less 
odious  discipline  of  classical  concerts. 

Susy  would  cheerfully  dance  fifteen  miles  an 
evening  to  Sousa  two-steps,  and  had  been  known 
to  weep  at  Tosti  ballads  as  sung  by  a  favorite 
barytone,  but  she  attended  an  afternoon  devoted 

8 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

to  Beethoven  with  the  expression  of  a  lamb  led 
to  the  slaughter. 

Her  husband,  who  vibrated  between  a  desire  to 
kiss  her  for  her  sweet  adaptability  to  a  tempera 
ment  so  exigent  as  Aunt  Emma's,  and  a  yearning 
to  slap  that  good  but  sometimes  mistaken  woman 
for  her  insistence  in  the  matter  of  her  theories 
and  those  of  The  Young  Mother,  usually  com 
promised  by  laughing  at  them  both,  to  the  amazed 
forbearance  of  his  aunt,  who  could  never  under 
stand  why  she  had  allowed  him  to  laugh  at  her 
since  she  first  put  him  into  short  trousers,  and 
the  amused  indifference  of  his  wife,  who  had  been 
laughed  at  and  adored  by  every  man  of  her  ac 
quaintance,  and  had  never  dreamed  of  resent 
ing  it. 

Having  waited  for  the  present  burst  of  laughter 
to  subside,  Aunt  Emma  continued  calmly: 
— of  her  who,  brooding  over — 

"  I  think  brooding  is  the  most  disgusting  word, 
Aunt  Emma,  absolutely  the  most  disgusting!  It 
always  reminds  me  of  one  of  two  things — either  a 
sulky  person  or  a  hen.  I'm  not  either  one,  and 
that  article  will  never  make  me  listen  to  their  old 
Greek  myths.  So  it's  no  use,  Aunt  Emma.  If 
you're  going  to  read  that  dreadful  Marius  book,  I 
don't  mind  so  much,  because  I  don't  understand 
anything  whatever  in  it,  and  parts  of  it  are  awfully 

9 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

pretty.  But  I  do  understand  the  Ruskin,  and  it 
irritates  me  terribly  —  preachy  old  thing!  No 
wonder  poor  Harry— 

"I'll  begin  directly,"  Aunt  Emma  interposed 
hastily,  and  Marius  the  Epicurean  moved  aesthet 
ically  on  his  way  for  an  hour. 

Susy  lay  quietly  among  the  pillows,  dozing  from 
time  to  time,  staring  vaguely  into  the  fire,  pulling 
her  toes  in  and  out  of  her  slippers.  Sometimes  a 
little  dreamy  smile  slipped  over  her  face,  some 
times  a  chance  word  of  the  text  called  up  an 
instant  sadness,  sometimes  a  quick  dread  dark 
ened  her  eyes  and  clinched  her  hands.  But 
Aunt  Emma,  oblivious  to  all  else,  was  lost  in 
Marius,  and  Marius,  as  far  as  his  audience  was 
concerned,  was  lost  in  his  style  —  that  very 
style  which  had  so  recommended  him  to  Mrs. 
Strenway. 

Exactly  one  hour  from  the  moment  the  paste 
board  marker  had  left  the  claret-colored  book  it 
was  returned  to  it,  considerably  in  advance  of  its 
last  resting-place,  and  Aunt  Emma  retired  for  her 
own  nap,  leaving  her  niece  and  The  Young  Mother 
in  undisputed  possession,  with  unlimited  oppor 
tunity  for  cultivating  each  other's  acquaintance. 
This  opportunity  young  Mrs.  Wilbour  improved 
no  further  than  to  make  an  unmistakable  face 
at  the  instructive  periodical,  employing  the  time 

10 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

until  her  husband's  arrival  in  practising  new  styles 
of  hair-dressing. 

Later,  Aunt  Emma  heard  their  shouts  of  laugh 
ter  across  the  hall,  and  wondered  for  the  thou 
sandth  time  if  they  would  ever  grow  up.  Nor 
would  she  have  been  encouraged  had  the  cause  of 
their  mirth  been  made  clear  to  her. 

"  Tommy  dearest — I  wish  there  was  a  magazine 
called  The  Young  Father!" 

"Heavens!     I  don't." 

"Well,  but,  Tommy,  if  there  happened  to  be, 
and  you  had  to  be  read  to  out  of  it,  and  it  was 
all  about  Greek  things  and  thinking  beautiful 
thoughts  and  studying  architecture,  and  nothing 
interesting,  what  would  you  do?" 

"I'd  seek  out  the  editor,  Toots,  and  shoot  him." 

"  I  think  what  I  mind  the  most,"  Susy  con 
tinued,  tying  her  husband's  head  bandagewise  in 
a  pale  green  Ascot  and  flapping  the  ends  like  rab 
bit's  ears  in  his  enduring  face,  "  is  that  in  all  these 
articles  they  keep  talking  about  the  thoughts  that 
come  to  you  while  you  are  sewing.  Of  course  I 
can't  have  the  thoughts,  because  I  can't  sew. 
Tommy  dearest,  do  you  mind  my  not  sewing?" 

"My  precious  Toots!" 

"Well,  I  thought  perhaps  you  might.  Aunt 
Emma  thinks  I  ought  to  learn,  because  there  was 
some  poetry  in  that  old  Young  Mother  about  the 

12 


"'IF  YOU  CRY  I'LL  SHOOT  THE  EDITOR' 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

young  hopes  that  were  embroidered  into  little 
petticoats,  and  things  like  that,  you  know.  It 
really  was  awfully  pretty,  the  poem.  And  it 
made  me  feel  sad,  because  I  couldn't  learn  so  soon, 
Tommy  darling.  You  know  Sis  always  did  it  for 
me,  and  since  we  were  married,  Aunt  Emma. 
And — and  the  clothes  wouldn't  look  nice,  and  I 
want  his  things  to  be  so  nice — 

"My  precious  baby,  if  you  cry  I'll  shoot  the 
editor  anyhow!  It  will  be  the  death  of  us  all, 
that  infernal  Young  Mother.  Toots,  you  will 
break  my  heart!" 

"  I  have  to  cry  a  little,  because  I  wanted  to  all 
day.  Ever  since  Valeria  Bell  played  that  violin 
this  morning,  I  have  been  so  sad,  Tommy.  Aunt 
Emma  read  how  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  mother  used 
to  be  played  to  on  the  violin  before  he  was  born,  and 
that's  why  he  was  such  a  great  man,  probably,  and 
so  she  asked  Valeria  to  come  in  every  day  and  play 
a  little,  and  she  came  to-day  and  played  'My  Old 
Kentucky  Home,'  and  the  chorus  always  made  me 
cry  when  the  quartet  sang  it — do  you  remember, 
when  we  were  engaged  ? — and  she  played  the  alto, 
too,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  was  going  to  die  or  some 
thing—" 

"Toots,  shut  up!" 

"And  so  I  cried,  and  then  Valeria  cried,  and 
Aunt  Emma  rushed  around,  and  the  puppy  howl- 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

ed,  and  so  finally  I  had  to  laugh.     I  hope  Valeria 
won't  come  again,  Tommy." 

"  Not  on  her  life,  she  won't!" 

"  And  then  I've  been  making  up  my  mind.  We 
mustn't  call  him  he,  Tommy,  because  he's  practi 
cally  certain  to  be  she.  There  was  a  table  of 
them — which  they  were,  I  mean — and  all  the  first 
ones  were  girls.  Practically  all,  I  mean.  Aunt 
Emma  says  it's  bad  for  me  to  have  my  mind  made 
up  wrong.  Of  course  it  might  just  be  a  boy,  but 
when  we  thought  of  all  we  knew  they  were  all 
girls.  Minnie's  baby,  and  Ethel's,  and  your  own 
sister's,  Tom — 

" Oh,  nonsense!" 

"No,  it  isn't,  dearest.  As  Aunt  Emma  said: 
'  Look  at  Tom.  Was  he  a  first  baby?'  and  I  had 
to  say  no,  because  there  is  your  sister  Julia." 

"Where  did  you  find  the  fool  tables?" 

"Why,  in  The  Young  Mother,  dear — 

"Oh,  confound  The  Young  Mother!11 

The  subscriber  to  that  abused  periodical  was 
at  that  moment  adding  to  her  diary  the  latest  en 
counter  with  the  incomprehensible  character  of 
her  niece : 

"S.  informed  me  this  morning  with  an  actual 
smile  that  she  had  '  finally  done  it,  and  now  it  was 
off  her  mind.' 

"'Done  what?'  said  I. 
16 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"'Fallen  down  flat,  right  on  my  nose,'  she  re 
plied,  with  an  air  of  great  amusement,  to  which 
my  horror  seemed  only  to  add.  '  Everybody  has 
to  do  it  once,  you  know,  Aunt  Emma,  and  I  tell 
you  I  did  it  thoroughly  —  my  whole  length,  on 
Fifty-seventh  Street.  Thank  heaven,  it's  over.' 
Is  there  any  subject  S.  would  not  treat  flippantly? 
And  to  think  that  to  her  is  to  be  confided  the  des 
tiny  of  a  human  soul!" 

It  was  her  nephew  in  person  who  explained  to 
Miss  Wilbour  the  extent  of  his  indifference  to  the 
achievements  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  with  regard 
to  the  effect  of  violin  music  previous  to  his  dis 
tinguished  birth. 

"And  as  for  sewing,  Aunt  Emma,  I  don't  give 
a  continental  hang  whether  Toots  ever  sees  a 
needle  or  not.  You  know  very  well  she  never 
did  sew;  why  should  she  begin  now,  with  all  her 
other  responsibilities  ? ' ' 

"  Responsibilities,  Tom!  I  should  think  so,  in 
deed!  And  approached  in  the  most  extraordi 
nary  spirit.  When  I  remember  your  cousin  Min 
nie  and  the  way  she  divided  her  time — so  much  for 
reading,  and  so  much  for  lectures  at  the  hospital, 
and  always  twice  a  week  to  afternoon  service,  and 
made  every  stitch  of  the  baby's  clothes  herself, 
and—" 

"Oh,    Minnie    always    was    a    precious    little 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

prig,  Aunt  Emma.  You  know  that  perfectly 
well." 

"  I  know  that  she  makes  an  admirable  home  for 
William  Sears,  Tom." 

"And  William  Sears  tried  hard  for  Toots  before 
he  gave  her  a  chance  to  make  it,  too!  Don't  you 
forget  that,  Aunt  Emma!  Now  don't  you  bother 
about  Tootie;  Valeria  Bell  has  made  her  blue  as 
indigo  with  that  infernal  violin.  I'm  going  to 
bring  in  some  people  and  cheer  her  up.  We'll 
have  some  coon  songs  and  something  to  eat 
and—" 

"  I'm  sure  Valeria  plays  very  well,  Tom." 

"She  plays  altogether  too  well  for  this  family, 
Aunt  Em,  and  that's  the  trouble!  Now  you  tell 
Norah  to  bend  her  mind  in  the  direction  of  the 
cheese,  and  find  out  whether  there  is  going  to  be 
enough,  will  you?  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  make  one 
rabbit  before  I  die  without  sprinting  five  blocks 
for  the  materials.  And  suggest  that  corn-meal 
muffins,  while  good  in  their  place,  are  not  my  first 
choice  when  it  comes  to  a  rabbit." 

"  Yes,  Tom,  I'll  attend  to  it."  Aunt  Emma  had 
lived  through  many  useful  years  under  the  firm 
conviction  that  she  had  brought  up  her  nephew 
Thomas  with  an  unsparing  severity  and  what  she 
called  "  a  taut  rein  "  ;  that  she  was  in  reality  his  un 
questioning  slave  had  long  been  apparent  to  the 

18 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

meanest  intellect  of  their  acquaintance,  the  more 
intimate  part  of  which  laughed  consumedly  at  her 
efforts  to  surround  his  wife  with  the  atmosphere 
most  precisely  in  accord  with  her  spiritual  and 
aesthetic  requirements. 

Susy  in  her  long  fur  cloak  and  an  expression  of 
settled  melancholy,  gently  but  firmly  escorted  to 
the  Ninth  Symphony;  Susy  seated  resignedly  on 
a  red-plush  bench  gazing  at  placid  landscapes  by 
Homer  Martin,  which  she  insisted  looked  so  much 
like  the  country  that  she  might  as  well  be  going 
home  for  Thanksgiving  and  be  done  with  it ;  Susy 
directing  ill-concealed  frowns  at  the  unconscious 
subjects  of  the  Parthenon  Frieze,  while  Aunt 
Emma  led  the  way  through  the  Metropolitan  col 
lection  of  casts,  and  escaping  finally  through  the 
inspired  suggestion  that  the  atmosphere  of  damp, 
if  immortal,  plaster  was  quite  as  likely  to  produce 
a  chill  as  an  elevation  of  soul — had  been  the  sub 
ject  of  sympathetic  mirth  for  many  months.  She 
was  a  light-hearted  little  creature,  and  for  the 
most  part  joined  in  the  laughter  she  caused,  but 
occasionally  even  her  good-tempered  tolerance 
deserted  her,  and  she  would  flee  to  her  married 
sister,  who  possessed  more  babies  than  theories, 
and  who  cheered  her  with  new  shirt-waist  pat 
terns  and  popular  novels. 

It  was  on  her  return  from  one  of  these  visits 
19 


"ESCORTED  TO  THE  NINTH  SYMPHONY" 


THE    MEMOIRS    Or    A    BABY 

that  she  confronted  the  greatest  of  many  small 
crises  for  which  the  too-suggestive  Young  Mother 
was  responsible.  It  is  doubtful  if  any  of  the  per 
formers  in  the  drama  will  forget  it,  though  only 
one  of  them  can  be  persuaded  to  relate  it. 

Aunt  Emma  had  improved  the  occasion  of 
Tom's  departure  to  his  wife's  old  home  to  make 
certain  long-planned  preparations  for  Susy's  ap 
proaching  birthday.  Both  the  young  people  no 
ticed  a  certain  self  -  congratulation  in  her  wel 
come,  both  felt  some  small  surprise  in  store;  but 
it  was  upon  Susy  alone  that  the  revelation  burst ; 
it  was  Susy's  shrill  cry  that  brought  her  terrified 
husband  to  her  side. 

Buried  in  his  arms,  she  screamed  frantically: 
"Take  him  away!  Take  him  away!  Oh,  Tom, 
take  them  both  away!  I  shall  die — I  know  I 
shall!  I  shall  never  sleep  in  this  room  alone 
again — never!  Oh,  please  take  him  away!" 

Staring  in  angry  expectation  around  the  dimly 
lighted  room,  there  appeared  to  the  startled  gaze 
of  Mr.  Wilbour  a  menacing  white  figure  almost  the 
size  of  life,  cold  and  demure,  gazing  with  placid, 
empty  eyes  at  his  trembling  little  wife. 

Through  the  half-gloom  one  white  arm  extended 
threateningly ;  the  costume  of  their  guest  consisted 
of  a  mass  of  drapery  depending  from  his  arm. 

"  What  in  thunder —    Where —     Lie  still,  Susy 

3  21 


THE    MEMOIRS    Or    A    BABY 

darling;  he — it  can't  possibly  hurt  you,  my  sweet 
heart—" 

"It's  only  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  Susy!"  Aunt 
Emma's  voice  expressed  a  certain  terrified  dis 
gust.  "What  is  the  matter  with  you?  It's  just 
a  statue!  I  had  it  put  up  to-day.  It's  for  your 
birthday — it's  nothing  but  a  plaster  cast.  Please 
stop  screaming,  Susy!" 

"  In  heaven's  name,  Aunt  Emma,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this?"  Tom  demanded  furiously. 
"Have  you  lost  your  mind?" 

"Not  at  all,  Tom.  Put  her  head  lower. 
There,  there,  I'll  stand  in  front  of  him.  You 
can't  see  him  now." 

"lean,  too!     I  see  his  arm!     Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"  It  was  because  I  read  so  much  about  the  Greek 
women,  Tom,  in — in  The  Young  Mother,  and  I 
know  no  reason  for  Susy  to  act  this  way.  All 
around  their  houses  these  statues  stood,  it  said, 
and  they  took  especial  pains  to  look  at  them 
all  the  time.  And  the  Roman  women,  too,  for 
that  matter.  It  had  a  real  influence  on  their 
children." 

"  I  should  think  it  might  have  had,"  her  nephew 
remarked  bitterly.  "  Shut  your  eyes,  Toots,  or 
look  away — look  over  there." 

"Oh,  Tom,  don't,  don't!  there's  the  other  one! 
He's  worse !  Don't  tell  me  to  look  at  him !" 

22 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

Mr.  Wilbour  whirled  about  and  met  the  intelli 
gent  if  strenuous  expression  of  the  Flying  Mer 
cury.  To  the  enraged  host  this  jumping,  beck 
oning  visitor  presented  an  appearance  no  less 
imbecile  than  exasperating. 

"  It  is  from  Harriet  Strenway,"  Aunt  Emma 
explained  dejectedly,  "we  got  them  together. 
Who  would  have  supposed  Susy  would  act  this 
way?  The  man  brought  them  up  so  carefully- 
only  one  gouge  in  the  hall  paper,  from  the  helmet. 
I  thought  in  the  morning  when  she  first  woke  up 
she  could  look  at  them — 

"  You  see,  this  time  I  said,  '  I  will  behave,  I  will 
be  brave — it  isn't  real!'"  Susy  gurgled  through 
chattering  teeth;  both  hands  grasped  her  hus 
band's.  "  When  I  wake  up  in  the  night,  and  I 
think  it  is  some  one  in  the  room,  and  I  am  so 
frightened,  I  just  say,  '  It's  nothing,  it's  nothing, 
it  can't  be  anything,'  and  then  it  isn't  anything. 
But  this  is  just  like  the  time  I  heard  the  tramp 
ling,  and  I  stuck  it  out,  and  I  wouldn't  believe 
it,  and  then  it  was  the  man  painting  the  roof!" 

"Yes,  dearest,  never  mind!  Come  out  with 
me." 

"And — and  this  time  I  just  said:  'No,  no,  I 
won't  scream;  I  won't!  It's  a  night-gown  hung 
up;  it's — it's  something —  Then  one  of  them 
moved  and  I  saw  him !  And  it  was  real ;  it  wasn't 

23 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

any  use  pretending.  It  was  so  dark — he  was  so 
big-  Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"Let  go,  darling,  and  I'll  take  'em  right  away 
—you  sha'n't  see  them  a  moment  more — 

"No,  no,  Tom,  stay  here!  Tom,  I  shall 
scream!" 

"There,  there,  Toots;  lie  down  and  shut  your 
eyes." 

Mr.  Wilbour  advanced  and  seized  the  Apollo 
Belvedere  about  the  waist.  It  was  much  heavier 
than  he  had  expected,  and  he  collapsed  gently  to 
the  floor,  the  statue  in  undisturbed  dignity  reclin 
ing  upon  him. 

Aunt  Emma  gasped,  and  Susy  giggled  hysteri 
cally. 

Tom  set  his  jaw  and  rose  to  a  determined  height, 
scowling  at  the  Apollo,  who  made  no  further  re 
sistance.  A  heavy  thud  and  the  subsequent  clos 
ing  of  a  door  in  the  hall  implied  that  the  bath 
room  closet  had  enshrined  the  chief  jewel  of  the 
Vatican. 

Later  he  attacked  the  Mercury,  the  women  fol 
lowing  his  every  motion  with  a  strained  attention. 
As  he  staggered  through  the  door,  the  astonishing 
profile  view  of  an  apparently  struggling  victim, 
one  arm  extending  in  agonized  appeal  behind  his 
captor's  back,  one  white  knee  crooked  for  winged 
flight,  turned  the  tide  of  Susy's  emotion,  and  peals 

25 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

of  laughter  echoed  wildly  through  the  bedroom. 
Tom  paused  a  moment  in  relief,  the  slippery  fig 
ure  twisted  in  his  arms,  and  the  fluttering  helmet 
crashed  against  the  door. 

A  shower  of  plaster  pattered  to  the  floor ;  a  wail 


"THE  CURLS  OF  THE  DIVINE  MESSENGER  CRUMBLED  IN  HER 
BLACK  BROADCLOTH  LAP " 


from  Aunt  Emma  cut  across  a  hollow  crash,  and 
Mercury  lay  prone  and  headless  before  them. 

26 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Mr.  Wilbour  arose  and  faced  his  family .  ' '  Susy , ' ' 
he  commanded,  "go  into  my  room!"  Shaking 
with  laughter,  mopping  her  eyes,  Susy  trailed  out 
of  the  room,  and  Tom  addressed  his  aunt.  "  Aunt 
Emma,"  he  thundered,  "this  is  just  about  as 
much  as  I  can  stand!  If  it's  Toots  who's  going 
to  have  this  baby,  for  heaven's  sake  let  her  have 
it!  Knot—" 

He  stalked  out  of  the  room,  straddling  the  fallen 
Mercury  contemptuously. 

Once  he  glanced  back.  Aunt  Emma  sat  in  the 
doorway,  dazed  and  tragic,  a  very  Judith,  with 
the  curls  of  the  divine  messenger  crumbled  in  her 
black  broadcloth  lap. 


WHICH   DEALS  WITH    THE    BABY 


UT  what  am  I  to  do,  Aunt  Emma? 
|  Stick  pins  into  the  poor  child  ?'  ' 


"Susy!" 

"  Perhaps  you  want  me  to  throw 
my  baby  down  the  stairs?" 
"Susy,  I  beg  you— 
"Or  I  might—" 

"  Susy,  it  is  positively  unnatural  for  you  to  talk 
so!  How,  even  in  jest,  you  can  say  such  terrible 
things,  I  cannot  see.  Your  cousin  Minnie  was  so 
different.  She  used  to  say  that  the  very  thought 
that  she  was  the  mother  of  her  baby  threw  her 
into  an  inexpressible  state  of  feeling:  actually,  I 
have  seen  Minnie's  eyes  fill  with  tears  when  she 
spoke  of  it!" 

"Um,  yes,"  Susy  returned,  with  a  noticeable 
lack  of  enthusiasm.  "I  seem  to  remember  see 
ing  Minnie's  eyes  do  that  quite  frequently,  Aunt 
Emma — don't  you?" 

28 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"Minnie  Sears  is  a  fine  girl,  Susy,  and  I  never 
could  understand  the  attitude  you  and  Tom  take 
towards  her.  No  child  was  ever  better  brought 
up  than  little  Dorothy.  I  only  hope — 

"  If  you're  going  to  hope  that  my  baby  will 
be  brought  up  like  Dorothy  Sears,  Aunt  Emma, 
you  might  as  well  stop  right  here,  for  it  never 
will  happen.  And  as  for  Minnie's  eyes  when 
she  thought  she  was  Dot's  mother — why,  who 
else  could  be  her  mother,  when  it  comes  to 
that?" 

Aunt  Emma  sighed  with  her  most  accustomed 
air. 

"You  are  so  absurdly  literal,  my  dear.  But 
then,  you  always  were.  Now  for  instance,  in  the 
matter  we  were  discussing,  of  course  you  under 
stand  perfectly  what  the  book  means — 

A  peculiar  expression  stole  over  Susy's  face; 
one  could  not  have  decided  immediately  whether 
she  were  more  amused  or  mutinous. 

"What  is  it,  Susy?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Tom,  Aunt  Emma,  and  what 
he  said  when  you  got  the  book." 

"And  what  was  that?"  Aunt  Emma  inquired 
resignedly. 

"He  said" — Susy  giggled  reminiscently — "he 
said—  A  growing  laugh  choked  her. 

"Yes,  dear?" 

29 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"He  said,  'Thank  God,  Toots,  that  blamed 
Young  Mother  has  gone  to  its  rest!'  " 

Aunt  Emma  assumed  an  expression  of  great  self- 
control. 

"  I  don't  think  Tom  ever  appreciated  the  prac 
tical—" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  did,  Aunt  Emma.  He  did  indeed. 
It  was  the  practical  side  that  bothered  him.  He 
said  he  didn't  care  a  hang  what  the  fool  dry- 
goods  clerk  that  edited  it  thought — you  know 
Tom  always  insisted  that  a  young  man  wrote  the 
things,  Aunt  Emma,  just  like  the  answers-to- 
questions  and  the  about-the-house  columns — but 
he  did  mind  a  lot  when  you  paid  attention  to  it 
and  we  had  to  do  the  things.  He  appreciated  it." 

Miss  Wilbour  passed  over  this  statement  in  dis 
creet  silence,  and  adjusting  her  glasses,  read  with 
a  suggestive  emphasis  the  following  sentences  from 
a  neat  volume  held  at  a  competent  angle. 

"  We  will  first,  then,  consider  the  cry  of  an  infant." 

Susy  bit  her  lip  significantly,  but  forbore  to  in 
terrupt. 

"  Let  the  mother  not  hush  his  cries  by  walking  or 
rocking  him;  this  is  a  very  bad  habit." 

Susy  opened  her  mouth  very  wide,  but  shut  it 
suddenly  with  an  audible  snap,  which  caused  Aunt 
Emma  to  look  up  curiously;  still  she  preserved  a 
respectful  silence,  though  evidently  with  difficulty. 

30 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Instead  of  quieting,  on  the  contrary  it  should  be 
a  mother's  duty  to  insist  that  her  baby  indulges  in  a 
certain  amount  of  good,  healthy  crying  each  day." 

"But  if  he  doesn't?  If  he  won't?  Aunt 
Emma,  you  can't  believe — 

"You  should  make  him." 

Aunt  Emma's  tones  rang  with  the  finality  of 
doom.  Susy  shuddered. 

"  But,  Aunt  Emma,  Tom  says  it's  such  a  per 
fectly  grand  thing  that  he  doesn't  cry!  Tom 
says  that  shows — 

"May  I  ask  what  possible  method  Tom  has  of 
discovering  what  that  shows?  His  opinion  on 
that  subject,  Susy,  is  about  as  valuable  as — as — 

Miss  Wilbour  struggled  for  a  comparison  suffi 
ciently  contemptible,  failed  to  achieve  it,  and  end 
ed  feebly  with,  "as  anything  at  all! 

"  I  brought  Tom  Wilbour  up,  my  dear,  and  while 
there  are  many  men  far  worse  than  he  in  many 
ways — " 

Susy  sniffed  angrily  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

" — In  every  way,  for  that  matter,"  Aunt 
Emma  pursued  evenly,  "at  the  same  time  he  is 
very  irresponsible  in  a  great  many  regards.  And 
as  to  his  judgment  about  the  baby- 
She  took  an  invisible  pinch  of  nothing  between 
her  thumb  and  finger  and  flipped  it  dramatically 
from  her. 


'"MAY  i  ASK  WHAT  POSSIBLE  METHOD  TOM  HAS  OF  DISCOVERING 

WHAT    THAT    SHOWS?'" 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"There's  one  thing  about  his  judgment,  Aunt 
Emma — you  remember  he  said  it  would  be  a  boy, 
don't  you?" 

"My  dear  child,  he  could  not  possibly — " 

"I  notice  it  was  a  boy,  though,  Aunt  Emma!" 

There  were  times  when  Aunt  Emma  could  have 
shaken  her  niece  with  a  good  will. 

To  both  of  them  occurred  a  sudden  flash  of 
reminiscence :  a  stilled,  shaken  household,  a  hurry 
ing  nurse,  a  terrified  man  tramping  the  library  with 
regular,  dogged  footsteps,  a  thin,  unknown  cry, 
and  later,  a  brisk  congratulation : 

"All  right,  Mr.  Wilbour — fine  boy — right  as  a 
trivet — step  in  and  see  her  a  moment!" 

And  then  to  Miss  Wilbour's  startled  ears  there 
had  come  a  faint  though  cheery  call : 

"  Mr.  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wilbour,  Aunt  Emma, 
and  he's  pleased  to  meet  you.  You  see,  the  tables 
aren't  always  right!" 

With  a  dazed  wonder  how  in  a  moment  like  that 
Susy  could  have  remembered  such  a  childish  tri 
umph,  and  a  pained  recollection  of  how  Minnie 
Sears  had  on  an  analogous  occasion  murmured  a 
rapt  quotation  to  her  husband,  Aunt  Emma  had 
grasped  the  handle  of  the  door  and  answered  weak 
ly  and  at  random.  Her  nephew  in  moments  de 
voted  to  teasing  her  insisted  that  her  reply  had 
conveyed  the  idea  that  not  to  have  provided  an 

33 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

infant  with  sex  in  accord  with  the  tables  of  the 
Young  Mother  was  to  have  failed  signally  to  profit 
by  its  teaching;  but  this  she  indignantly  denied, 
though  sincerely  ignorant  of  what  she  had  really 
said. 

On  his  adding  that  his  pity  for  William  Sears 
had  increased  tenfold  after  what  she  had  told  him, 
and  that  a  girl  who  in  a  situation  of  that  sort  was 
capable  of  getting  back  at  a  man  with  Browning 
could  readily  be  spared  from  the  home-circle  of 
Thomas  Wilbour,  she  had  washed  her  hands  of  his 
spiritual  development  for  the  hundredth  time,  and 
procured  from  Mrs.  Sears  the  neat  volume  which 
even  now  held  his  wife's  attention. 

The  title  of  this  comprehensive  if  somewhat  di 
dactic  book  was  to  become  as  dread  a  factor  in  the 
family  as  its  more  frequently  recurring  but  not 
more  insistent  predecessor. 

The  Baby,  His  Care  and  Training,  dogged  the 
down-sittings  and  the  up-risings  of  the  latest  Wil 
bour  with  an  inevitable  persistence.  And  this 
pursuit  was  the  more  trying  for  the  reason  that  in 
almost  no  respect  did  the  infant  in  question  even 
so  much  as  faintly  emulate  the  characteristics  of 
the  inspired  subject  of  the  treatise. 

For  instance,  he  did  not,  would  not,  and  appar 
ently  could  not,  cry.  In  direct  opposition  to  cus 
tom,  tradition,  and  the  rules  of  the  game  as  stated 

34 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

in  the  book,  he  preserved  an  unbroken  cheerful 
ness. 

This  attitude  on  his  part  was  not  only  irritating 
but  distinctly  alarming,  because,  as  his  father  in 
genuously  explained,  it  was  impossible,  owing  to 
the  undeveloped  state  of  his  intelligence,  to  point 
out  to  him  the  unconventional,  not  to  say  unjus 
tifiable,  course  he  had  adopted  from  the  start. 

"Tell  him  Aunt  Emma  says  he  will  grow  up 
without  any  lung  tissue,"  he  would  urge.  "Tell 
him  he  ought  to  give  several  good  screams  and  get 
red  in  the  face!  Tell  him  I  say  so!" 

At  which  Susy  would  gravely  impart  this  infor 
mation  to  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wilbour,  who  would 
smile  placidly  and  continue  to  endanger  his  lung 
tissue. 

If  slapped  suddenly  on  the  back  he  would  draw 
a  deep  breath,  utter  a  short,  disturbed  ejaculation, 
and  then  smile  on  the  originator  of  the  assault 
with  such  well-bred  forgiveness,  such  an  air  of ,  "  I 
know  you  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  as  to  plunge  that 
remorseful  person  into  gulfs  of  self -accusation. 
Certain  furtive  and  sinister  attempts  on  Aunt 
Emma's  part  to  shake  his  abnormal  calm  and 
surprise  him  into  a  lapse  from  his  dangerous 
recueillement  met  only  with  a  good-humored  tol 
erance,  followed  by  a  long,  wondering  look  of 
such  pained  incredulity  when  the  object  of  her 

35 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

brutal  pokes  and  tantalizing  withdrawals  of  his 
bottle  became  all  too  clear  to  him,  as  to  cause 
her  to  dissolve  in  tears  by  his  crib. 

So  worried  did  the  good  lady  become,  after 
months  of  this  impenetrable  peace,  that  she  would 
have  welcomed  eagerly  even  the  cry  of  temper  and 
indulgence,  "Which  he  simply  couldn't  have,  with 
Tom  and  me  for  parents,  Aunt  Emma  " ;  or  the  cry 
of  hunger,  "  Which  he  can't  pretend  to  have,  as  he 
always  has  enough  to  eat";  or  the  cry  of  pain, 
"  Which  he  hasn't  the  slightest  excuse  for  having, 
as  nothing  sticks  into  him  or  wrinkles  him,  and 
Dr.  Blanchard  says  that  babies  needn't  ever  have 
colic!" 

But  it  became  at  last  evident  that  in  Master 
Wilbour's  social  scheme  these  lower-class  and 
doubtful  expressions  of  emotion  were  relegated 
to  precisely  the  same  plane  as  the  highly  recom 
mended  wailings  of  the  book  disrespectfully  re 
ferred  to  by  his  father  as  the  "  league  rules." 

"And  some  of  'em  are  simply  beastly,"  Tom 
would  add.  "  Look  at  this,  now: 

"Do  not  omit  or  defer  giving  the  baby  his  food  at 
the  regular  hour  because  he  happens  to  be  asleep. 

"  I  like  that— by  George!     I  like  that! 

"  Wake  him;  it  will  not  do  the  slightest  harm— 

"Oh  yes,  wake  him!  'Excuse  me,  but  here's 
a  bottle  you  don't  want,  my  dear  child!  Hop  up 

36 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

and  pour  it  in!  In  the  course  of  nature  you  are 
taking  a  little  needed  rest,  but  what  of  that? 
With  the  nurse  and  the  family  out  of  the  way,  and 
nobody  to  take  off  everything  you've  got  on  every 
ten  minutes  and  put  on  something  else,  you 
thought  you'd  snatch  a  little  nap  and  repair  some 
of  the  nervous  waste  of  the  day,  but  it's  all  over 
now.  Open  your  mouth.' 

"How  would  you  like  it,  Aunt  Emma?" 

"That's  quite  different,  Tom." 

"  Not  at  all.  Not  a  bit  different.  Get  down  on 
the  lounge  some  day,  throw  that  purple  afghan 
over  you  and  snooze  nicely  off.  Everything  all 
right,  cares  that  infest  the  day  all  folded  their  tents 
like  the  what-d'-you-call-'ems  and  silently  sneaked 
away,  and  just  as  you're  'way  down  under,  some 
body  grabs  you  and  shakes  you  up. 

'"Hi,  there,  wake  up — here's  a  sandwich!' 

" '  What's  the  matter?     House  on  fire?' 

"'No,  but  eat  this  sandwich  and  hush  your 
noise !' 

"I  don't  know  what  you'd  feel  constrained  to 
remark,  Aunt  Emma,  but  I  have  a  general  idea  of 
my  own  soft  answers." 

"You  don't  understand  what  you're  talking 
about,  Tom.  Hand  me  the  book." 

Aunt  Emma  turned  with  a  practised  hand  to 
the  paragraph  in  question  and  continued: 
4  37 

106234 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

" — the  slightest  harm,  and  he  will  soon  fall  into 
the  habit  of  waking  when  that  time  comes. 

"  That's  the  idea,  Tom,  to  have  him  form  a  reg 
ular  habit — " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I'll  bet  he  would.  And  you,  too, 
you'd  form  a  regular  habit  of  nervous  prostration. 
You'd  sleep  like  St.  Vitus's  dance.  Pretty  expec 
tations  you'd  drop  off  with — a  pleasant  nap  to 
look  forward  to!  Personally,  I'd  form  a  regular 
habit  of  keeping  a  revolver  under  my  pillow!" 

At  remarks  in  this  strain,  if  carried  on  in  his 
presence,  the  heir  of  all  the  Wilbours  would  fre 
quently  laugh  unrestrainedly,  to  the  puzzled  awe 
of  his  father,  the  delight  of  his  mother,  and  the 
disapproval  of  his  great-aunt. 

For  this  tendency  to  levity  had  persisted  from 
his  birth,  and  appeared  to  be  no  less  deeply  seated 
in  him  than  deplored  by  the  manual  devoted  to 
his  up-bringing. 

Again  and  again  had  Aunt  Emma  dolefully  read 
to  his  parents  the  ultimatum  of  the  "league 
rules": 

"  The  new-born  infant  needs  absolutely  no  amuse 
ment  whatever!'1 

It  may  be  that  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wilbour 
needed  no  amusement,  but  the  fact  remains  that 
he  got  it.  Life  in  all  its  phases  possessed  for 
him  unsounded  depths  of  entertainment,  and  in 

38 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

the  intervals  of  uncontrolled  laughter  at  the  acts 
and  words  of  his  astonished  elders  he  gave  way 
to  frequent  subtle  smiles  resulting  from  subjec 
tively  humorous  experiences  unguessed  by  the 
world  at  large. 

"It  isn't  as  if,"  Aunt  Emma  would  argue,  one 
eye  on  the  fateful  volume,  "rocking  had  been  in 
troduced  by  way  of  change,  patting,  dancing  up  and 
down,  walking,  talking,  rattles,  noisy,  squeaking  toys 
—he's  never  been  over-stimulated  by  those  things ! 
It  can't  be  that  your  sister  began  it,  Susy,  by  per 
sisting  in  dancing  him  in  the  beginning?" 

"Good  heavens!  Aunt  Emma,  how  can  you 
think  so  ?  As  if  that  could  make  a  particle  of  dif 
ference  !  That's  enough  to  make  the  baby  laugh !" 

And  indeed  a  gentle  smile  wrinkled  the  cheeks 
of  Martin  Brinkerhoff.  It  spread  to  his  eyes,  and 
then,  as  he  caught  Miss  Wilbour's  troubled  and 
piercing  gaze,  a  low  chuckle  burst  from  the  mis 
guided  child,  which  grew  rapidly  into  a  roar  of  ill- 
timed  crowing. 

Aunt  Emma  shut  The  Baby,  His  Care  and  Train 
ing,  with  an  undisguised  slam. 

"That  boy  is  possessed,"  she  declared  forcibly, 
while  Tom  and  Susy  drowned  their  offspring's 
laughter  in  their  own. 

It  was  reserved  for  Tom,  whose  contempt  for 
The  Baby,  His  Care  and  Training,  grew  daily,  to 

39 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

make  in  this  connection  the  most  startling  appli 
cation  of  all  the  theories  so  persistently  refuted 
by  his  son.  It  became  his  custom  to  seize  the  of 
fending  volume  directly  after  dinner,  and  holding 
it  above  Aunt  Emma's  scandalized  grasp,  to  read 
selected  phrases  from  it,  accompanied  by  a  rapid 
fire  of  satiric  comment,  during  which  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  Martin  Brinkerhoff  was  grin 
ning  diabolically  in  his  crib  up-stairs. 

This  habit  dated  from  the  evening  of  the  day 
signalized  by  his  son's  too  violent  mirth,  when 
Tom,  in  idly  turning  the  pages  of  Aunt  Emma's 
vade-mecum,  had  hit  upon  a  sentence  of  inexhaust 
ible  amusement  to  him  and  Susy. 

11 A  Child,"  he  announced  triumphantly,  "is 
much  happier  with  one  simple  object  of  amusement! 
There  you  are.  I've  discovered  something  in 
this  book  at  last.  Of  course  he  is.  That's  what's 
the  matter  with  him,  Aunt  Emma,  and  now 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  It's  up  to 
you!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Tom?" 

They  laughed  delightedly  at  her  perplexity. 

"Can't  you  see?"  Susy  urged  mischievously. 
"Can't  you?" 

"I'm  sure  I  never  gave  him  much,  my  dear — 
only  that  red  ball  and  the  dog  picture.  He  hates 
that  rubber  cow — you  said  so  yourself." 

40 


'A  CHILD   IS   MUCH    HAPPIER   WITH   ONE   SIMPLE 
OBJECT  OF  AMUSEMENT!'" 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"  But  what  does  he  laugh  at  the  most,  Aunt 
Emma?  Don't  say  you  haven't  noticed!" 

Miss  Wilbour  frowned  thoughtfully.  "Why, 
really,  Susy,  I've  never  noticed  that  any  toys 
amuse  him  very  much.  The  cat  frightened  him, 
if  anything.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  seems  to 
take  more  interest  in  people.  You  know  how 
often  he  laughs  at  me — 

"That's  it,  Aunt  Em,  that's  it!"  Tom  slapped 
the  book  and  roared  again.  "  You're  the  person 
that's  disorganizing  my  son's  nervous  system — 
you're  his  one  simple  object  of  amusement!" 

"Oh,  Tom,  how  can  you  be  so  ridiculous?  Of 
course  it  doesn't  mean— 

"Woman,  don't  seek  to  get  out  of  it  by  these 
paltry  excuses!  Give  me  your  attention  a  mo 
ment. 

"By  this  time  the  little  brain  is  so  overworked 
that  the  poor  baby  is  in  a  highly  nervous  state.  Poor 
baby,  has  he  no  rights?" 

"Tom,  how  can  you?" 

"It  is  only  when  the  adult  steps  in  and  urges 
him  on  that  he  goes  beyond  his  powers,  Aunt 
Emma!  Dear  me!  dear  me!" 

"Tom,  give  me  that  book!" 

"It  is  the  pleasures  that  come  but  seldom  in  one's 
life  that  are  most  enjoyed  and  appreciated — mark 
that,  Aunt  Emma — the  ones  that  occur  every  day, 

42 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

or  with  clocklike  regularity,  soon  pall  upon  one 
and  cease  to  be  pleasures!" 

"Tom  Wilbour,  if  you  really  think  that  I  have 
a  bad  influence  on  that  child — 

"My  dear  Aunt  Emma,  I  think  you  are  a  de 
licious  old  goose!" 

"Why,  the  idea,  Aunt  Emma!  Stop  it  this 
moment!  He  was  only  teasing  you!  The  baby 
loves  you  dearly,  and  I  don't  know  what  we'd  do 
without  you!  Please  stop,  Aunt  Emma!" 

Their  distress  was  so  genuine,  so  close  lay  their 
affection  under  their  quick  laughter,  that  she 
kissed  them  both  forgivingly  and  thanked  heav 
en,  for  them,  that  some  one  of  constant  purpose 
was  given  them  to  balance  their  united  irrespon 
sibility. 

This  position,  indeed,  did  not  lack  support  from 
the  Wilbour s'  friends,  who,  while  in  one  breath 
they  marvelled  at  the  easy  tolerance  with  which 
Susy  endured  the  attempted  regulation  of  her 
baby's  life  at  Aunt  Emma's  hands,  and  the  readi 
ness  with  which  she  yielded  in  most  details  to 
the  results  of  that  lady's  conscientious  researches, 
were  yet  forced  to  agree  in  the  recognition  of  the 
older  woman's  unstinted  devotion  to  the  little 
family,  and  more  than  that,  to  respect  her  prac 
tical  assistance  in  many  of  the  crises  that  con 
fronted  the  young  people.  It  was  well,  indeed, 

43 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

that  Martin  Brinkerhoff's  temperament  was  no 
more  exigent,  and  that  his  peculiar  sense  of  hu 
mor  adjusted  itself  so  readily  to  that  of  his  moth 
er,  for  Susy  insisted  that  she  could  never  have  put 
up  with  anything  less  in  the  way  of  a  son. 

"Of  course,"  she  confided  to  Aunt  Emma  one 
day,  "  I  wouldn't  let  the  baby  go  hungry — I'd 
rather  myself ;  and  if  one  of  us  -had  to  be  awfully 
cold  and  wet,  I  suppose  it  would  be  me.  But, 
oh  dear,  Aunt  Emma,  I  shouldn't  enjoy  it — not 
a  bit !  And  I'd  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  after 
wards!" 

"  My  dear  Susy,  you  know  that  is  not  what  you 
really  think.  Everybody  knows  that  a  mother 
never  hesitates  a  second — that  death  is  nothing 
to  her—" 

"  Everybody's  an  idiot,  then.  I  suppose  you're 
thinking  of  that  silly  calendar  Minnie  sent  me. 
Of  all  things,  a  calendar  named  'The  Mother 
Heart ' !  If  she  thinks  I  flop  it  over  every  week 
she's  much  mistaken,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  her 
so." 

It  was  precisely  the  calendar  in  question  that 
Miss  Wilbour  had  in  mind,  more  particularly  a 
long  and  not  too  cheerful  ballad  included  in  it, 
dealing  with  the  heroism  of  a  young  mother  who 
perished  in  an  incredible  snow-storm  with  not 
able  alacrity,  having  previously  wrapped  her 

44 


THE    MEMOIRS   Of    A    BABY 

blue-eyed  infant  in  all  but  the  most  convention 
ally  requisite  of  her  garments. 

"As  for  that  girl  in  the  snow,"  Susy  pursued 
comfortably,  "  I  hope  you  realize,  Aunt  Emma, 
that  I  would  never,  never  do  it." 

"Oh  yes,  you  would,  Susy;  you  couldn't  help 
it." 

"Couldn't  I,  though!  And  what  would  poor 
Tommy  be  doing,  may  I  ask?  You  don't  seem 
to  think  of  that,  Aunt  Emma.  In  the  first  place, 
he  would  never  allow  it  to  happen — any  of  it — 
and  in  the  second  place,  do  you  suppose  he  would 
want  the  baby  without  me?  You  must  admit, 
Aunt  Emma,  that  Tommy  needs  me  more  than 
he  needs  the  baby." 

"Why,  Susy,  the  question  is  how  you  would 
feel,  not  Tom." 

"Very  well,  then,  I  feel  the  same  as  Tommy — 
I  need  him  more  than  I  need  the  baby!  I  could 
have  other  babies,  but  I  could  only  have  one  hus 
band  in  the  world,  Aunt  Emma  Wilbour,  and  if 
you  think  for  a  moment  that  I  don't  love  him 
ten  times  the  best — 

Aunt  Emma  looked  with  amazement  at  Susy's 
flashing  eyes  and  excited  cheeks;  she  glanced  in- 
volutarily  at  the  snow-storm  lady  on  the  calendar, 
and  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  she  answered  in 
a  low  voice,  with  an  unusual  simplicity,  a  new 

45 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

respect  for   something   unknown  to  her  experi 
ence: 

"Very  well,  my  dear  child,  it  may  be  so.  I — 
I  never  felt  that  way  for  a — for  any  person." 

It  may  have  been  this  recent  humility  that  en 
abled  her  to  overlook  with  unusual  indulgence 
Susy's  refusal,  one  Sunday,  to  superintend  the 
baby's  morning  bath. 

"Mary  can  do  it  perfectly  well,  Aunt  Emma, 
and  I  have  to  get  ready  to  go  out  with  Tommy. 
Why  don't  you  give  it  to  him  yourself,  if  you 
think  she  doesn't  do  it  right?" 

An  unwonted  stillness  in  the  nursery,  which 
usually  on  these  occasions  resounded  to  the  splash 
ing  of  her  son  and  the  cooings  and  admonitions 
of  his  nurse,  drew  Susy  to  the  door  a  little  later, 
and  at  sight  of  her  motionless  figure  in  an  attitude 
of  strained  attention,  Mr.  Wilbour  stole  softly  up 
to  peep  over  her  shoulder. 

On  a  low  chair  beside  the  rubber  bath-tub,  a 
heavy  blanket  over  her  knees,  an  alert  though 
quiet  infant  balanced  on  her  palms,  sat  Aunt 
Emma.  Across  the  tub,  in  an  oratorical  attitude, 
stood  Mary  West,  the  nurse,  one  eye  nervously 
fastened  on  her  official  charge,  the  other  turned 
at  unwilling  intervals  on  a  small  book  held  gin 
gerly  in  a  disapproving  left  hand.  In  a  perfectly 
expressionless-  monotone  which  ill  concealed  her 

46 


THE  MEMOIRS  Of  A  BABY 


AN  ALERT  THOUGH  QUIET  INFANT  BALANCED  ON  HER 
PALMS" 

distrust  of  the  present  proceedings,  she  read  some 
what  jerkily,  as  follows,  to  the  undisguised  ex 
citement  of  the  audience  in  the  doorway : 

"  Extend  -  -  the  —  three  -  -  middle  —  fingers  - 
down  —  the  —  back  —  with  —  thumb  —  and  —  lit- 

47 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

tie  —  -finger  —  stretched  —  from  —  shoulder  —  to  — 
shoulder  —  this  —  will  —  form  —  a  —  support  —  for 
-  the  —  entire  —  body  —  let  —  the  —  head  —  rest 
—on — your  wrist — (be  careful,  please,  Miss  Wil- 
bour,  he's  going  to  kick  out  in  a  minute,  please,) 
—and — grasp — the  —  feet  —  with  —  your  —  right — 
hand — and — lift  —  the  —  baby —  into — (you're  los 
ing  him,  ma'am,)  —  the  —  tub  —  in  —  a  —  sitting 
position—  There,  Miss  Wilbour,  I  told  you!" 

With  a  dizzy  lurch,  though  still  serenely  smil 
ing,  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wilbour  slipped,  accom 
panied  by  a  hollow  splash,  to  the  bottom  of  the 
tub.  There  was  a  snort  of  disdain  from  Mary,  a 
cry  of  horror  from  Aunt  Emma,  a  wild  rush  from 
the  door.  Susy  snatched  him  from  his  nurse's 
rescuing  arms  and  pressed  him,  dazed  and  drip 
ping,  to  her  immaculate  shirt-waist. 

A  moment  of  suspense,  and  then  as  he  sat  slip 
pery  and  shining  like  a  Cupid  under  a  fountain, 
blinking  the  water  from  his  eyes  and  sucking  it 
adorably  from  his  under  lip,  the  master  of  the 
situation  gasped  once  or  twice,  coughed  chokily, 
and  meeting  his  father's  anxious  eye,  winked 
gravely  once.  Then  observing  Aunt  Emma,  a 
huddled  and  humiliated  figure,  an  irrepressible 
grin  fluttered  his  chin,  widened,  broke,  and  dis 
solved  in  an  estatic  bubble  of  laughter. 

Susy,  pressing  her  lips  to  his  soft,  wet  little 
48 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP   A    BABY 

body,  hugged  him  and  laughed  too ;  Mary,  at  sight 
of  The  Baby,  His  Care  and  Training,  ignominiously 
afloat  in  the  tub,  chuckled  contentedly ;  and  Tom, 
unable  to  speak  clearly  for  his  mirth,  struggled 
in  vain  for  articulate  words. 

Presently  he  found  speech,  and  taking  his  son 
gently  from  Susy's  arms,  he  laid  him,  kicking 
and  crowing,  in  Miss  Wilbour's  dejected  lap. 

"  Practise  on  him  all  you  like,  Aunt  Emma," 
he  commanded  magnanimously,  "he's  game!" 


WHICH    DEALS   WITH   THE   DAWNING   SOUL 

&M&HSIISS   WILBOUR  regarded  the  ma- 

t^^s^SSs 

in  her  lap  with  unconcealed 

satisfaction.  It  resembled  a  laun- 
bag  without  a  drawing-string, 
except  that  in  place  of  a  single  long 
slit  in  one  side  it  boasted  two  short  holes  in  the 
bottom.  In  texture  it  was  denim,  in  color  an 
uncompromising  blue. 

"I  think,"  she  mused  placidly,  "I  will  make 
two  while  I  am  about  it,  and  then  while  one  is 
being  washed — 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  better  wait,  Aunt 
Emma,  till  we  see  whether  he  likes  it?" 

"Why,  nonsense,  Susy,  of  course  not!  Why 
shouldn't  he  like  it?  And  the  question  is,  too, 
what  you  like,  it  seems  to  me.  Do  you  want  that 
batiste — even  the  plain  one,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
one  with  French  knots — all  worn  through  in  half 
an  hour?" 

50 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"  No,  indeed,  Aunt  Emma,  after  all  the  pains 
you  took  with  it!  But  perhaps  he  won't  creep 
long  enough  to  wear  out  two  of  them,  and  it  could 
be  washed  very  quickly,  you  know." 

"  It's  very  unusual  for  you  to  be  so  economical, 
Susy,"  Miss  Wilbour  suggested — "very.  I  be 
lieve  you  think  he's  not  going  to  creep  at  all.  Do 
you  suppose  he  will  walk  tip  and  down  stairs  im 
mediately  ?  Dorothy  Sears  crept  for  six  months — 
up  and  down,  all  over  the  house.  Everywhere 
you  went — 

"You  stumbled  over  her.  I  should  say  so, 
Aunt  Emma.  And  perfectly  disgusting,  I  think. 
Tom  says  he  used  to  walk  on  eggs,  really,  every 
minute  he  was  in  that  house,  for  fear  he'd  step 
on  her.  She  would  come  out  of  the  queerest 
places  and  frighten  you  to  death.  Once  I  fell  up 
stairs  over  her  and  tore  my  silk  slip — that  pale 
green  one — and  I  could  have  cried.  It  was  right 
in  the  front  breadth,  too.  And  Minnie  acted  as 
if  it  was  my  fault.  Tom  said  they  ought  to  have 
fastened  a  head-light  to  her  and  made  her  ring  a 
gong." 

"  I  always  admired  Minnie  Sears 's  attitude  tow 
ards  her  baby,  Susy — in  the  way  she  gave  up  the 
house  to  her.  She  used  to  say  that  she  felt  noth 
ing  that  was  too  nice  for  her  to  dare  let  Dorothy 
go  near  it  had  any  right  to  interfere  with  her 


progress ;  and  as  for  considering  her  in  the  way — 
she  couldn't  understand,  she  told  me  once,  how 


- 


'"MRS.   UPSON  SPILLED  HER  TEA  ON  DOT'S  HEAD'" 

true  mother  could  ever  consider  her  child  in 
the  way,  no  matter  what  the  circumstances." 

52 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

"  I  know.  But  plenty  of  other  true  mothers 
considered  Dotty  in  the  way  when  she  crept 
around  and  chewed  their  best  gowns,  afternoons," 
Susy  returned  obstinately.  "I  never  shall  for 
get,  Aunt  Emma,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  and 
four,  that  time  when  Mrs.  Upson  spilled  her  tea 
on  Dot's  head.  It  was  one  of  Minnie's  Tues 
days  in  Lent,  and  Mrs.  Upson  refused  to  apolo 
gize,  because  she  said  if  babies  crawled  up  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  under  your  skirts,  they 
deserved  to  be  spilled  on,  and  Minnie  thought 
she  ought  not  to  go  to  early  service,  feeling  as 
she  did—" 

"Feeling  as  Minnie  did?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Upson,  of  course!  Catch  Minnie 
thinking  anything  was  the  matter  with  her  feel 
ings!" 

Aunt  Emma  coughed  discreetly.  "About  the 
creeping,  though,  Susy :  it  would  be  too  bad  if  he 
didn't.  If  only  you  could  have  heard  Miss  Ut- 
leigh  this  morning  on  just  that  subject!  She 
certainly  has  great  command  of  language." 

"About  those  blue  denim  things,  was  it?" 

"No,  indeed,  it  was  much  broader.  Exceed 
ingly  broad,  in  fact :  The  Creeping  Child — a  Sym 
bol— was  on  the  syllabi — 

"'Bus,  dear  aunt,  you  mean  'bus,'"  a  sepulchral 
voice  remonstrated. 

*  53 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Aunt  Emma  jumped.  "Oh,  Tom!  When  did 
you  come  in?  Of  course  I  mean  'bus.  But  I  al 
ways  say  syllab's— most  of  the  ladies  do,  in  fact. 
It  seems  to  sound  better,  somehow." 

"And  how  was  the  fair  Aurora?  Dewy  as 
ever?  Is  the  Soul  still  Dawning?" 

"It  was  a  beautiful  talk,"  said  Miss  Wilbour 
severely,  "and  we  learned  a  great  many  things. 
For  that  matter,  so  did  Miss  Utleigh  herself,  in 
tho  discussion.  She  says  that  often  as  she  has 
given,  this  course,  she  never  fails  to  learn  some 
new  thing  in  the  discussion,  in  different  places." 

"I'll  bet  she  does.  She  learns  how  to  cash  your 
checks,  for  one  thing." 

"  Now,  Tom!  She  said  she  was  sincerely  grate 
ful  to  us." 

"That's  where  she  was  right — she  ought  to  be. 
If  I  could  pull  in  a  hundred  for  handing  out  such 
patter  once  a  week  for  a  month,  I'd  be  grateful. 
Aurora's  all  right." 

Miss  Wilbour  had  never  been  able  to  impress 
her  nephew  with  the  necessity  for  regarding  with 
sufficient  seriousness  the  latest  lamp  to  her  feet — 
an  instructive  and  fashionable  lady  disrespectful 
ly  referred  to  by  him  as  Miss  Utterly  Utter,  or 
more  commonly,  Aurora.  Both  these  names  were, 
to  borrow  the  lady's  phraseology,  in  the  nature 
of  a  symbol,  the  latter  in  particular  being  directed 

54 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

at  the  general  heading  of  her  course  of  lectures — 
"The  Dawning  Soul." 

Kindergarten  talks  to  young  mothers  having 
long  ceased  to  be  a  novelty  among  the  leisured 
class  of  women  who  formed  her  clientele,  this 
gifted  person  had  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of 
a  series  of  talks  relative  to  what  might  be  called 
the  pre  -  kindergarten  stage  of  existence'.  From 
that  point  of  view  the  cubes  and  triangles  of 
Froebel  appeared  as  complicated  as  the  differential 
calculus,  and  the  spiritual  significance  of  colored 
tissue-paper  was  referred  to  the  mature  consider 
ation  of  a  comparatively  advanced  infancy. 

It  was  to  a  study  of  the  delicately  vague  con 
ceptions  of  members  of  society  usually  considered 
too  youthful  for  analysis  that  Miss  Utleigh  di 
rected  her  hearers'  attention,  and  it  was  the  third 
of  the  series  that  had  inspired  Aunt  Emma  to 
the  construction  of  the  denim  creeping-bag. 

"Because,  Tom,  it  is  perfectly  true  that  these 
simple  things  that  every  baby  does,  mean  a  great 
deal  more  to  the  child  than  they  do  to  us — sig 
nify  more." 

"  Meaning  which?"  her  nephew  inquired  laconi 
cally. 

"Why,  for  instance,  just  lifting  up  their  arms. 
Of  course  when  we  do  that  it  doesn't  mean  any 
thing  in  particular — " 

55 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

"  If  you'd  ever  been  held  up  in  Chicago,  you'd 
think  it  did,"  Mr.  Wilbour  commented,  "but  go 
on,  Aunt  Emma." 

"As  it  may  be  we're  just  yawning,  or  something 
like  that.  Now  to  a  child  that  can't  use  its  mind 
yet — in  the  sense  that  we  do,  at  least — all  bodily 
actions  are  equivalent  to  mental  states,"  Aunt 
Emma  pursued  glibly,  to  the  astonished  admira 
tion  of  her  audience,  who  sat  lost  in  sincere 
amazement  at  the  scientific  atmosphere  in  which 
they  suddenly  found  themselves. 

"'So  the  lifting  of  the  arms  in  a  young  infant, 
when  perfectly  voluntary,"  Miss  Wilbour  con 
tinued,  at  this  point  unblushingly  consulting  her 
note-book,  "'is  as  definite  an  aspiration,  from  his 
stand-point,  as  the  unuttered  prayer  of  an — a — an 
Appleby,  or  the — '" 

"Unuttered  prayer  of  a  what?"  Tom  demand 
ed  curiously. 

"A — an  Appleby,  I  think,"  Aunt  Emma  re 
peated,  uncertainly,  but  with  a  slightly  defiant 
emphasis. 

"What  in  the  world  is  that,  Aunt  Emma?" 

"Yes,  what  is  an  appleby?  Tell  us,"  urged 
her  nephew  with  interest. 

"Why, to  tell  the  truth, Tom,  I  don't  know  ex 
actly.  I  can't  seem  to  recall  just  what  it  does 
refer  to,"  Aunt  Emma  replied  uneasily,  "but 

56 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

it's  not  important,  anyway,  that  part.  '  The 
reaching  out  of  the  tiny  hand,  that  grandest  symbol 
of  our  human — ' ' 

"  But  what  is  an  appleby,  Aunt  Emma?  I  feel 
I  must  know.  I  can't  think  of  anything  else." 

"She  must  mean  apple-tree,"  Susy  suggested 
helpfully. 

"Ah,  perhaps  she  does,  my  dear.  Probably — 
No,  it's  all  one  word.  I  think  it's  a  person.  But 
I  can't  remember —  Oh,  it's  Agassiz !  I  remem 
ber  now,  because  I  thought  of  that  big  stone  in 
Boston.  Of  course!  How  stupid  of  me!  Agas 
siz." 

"I  breathe  again,"  Mr.  Wilbour  declared,  with 
apparent  relief.  "  I  had  begun  to  fear  that  Au 
rora  had  lost  her  way.  But  she's  all  right.  If 
I  get  her  point,  she  means  that  every  time  Binks 
sneezes  he's  giving  his  views  on  the  tariff — sym 
bolically?" 

His  aunt  ignored  this  remark.  '"'And  so  on 
up  to  games,"  she  added  luminously.  "All  the 
games  mean  something,  even  the  most  childish — 
something  deep  and — " 

"There  is  where  Aurora  scores  again,"  Tom 
interrupted.  "All  the  games  do.  We  had  a  lit 
tle  game  last  night  that  meant  a  good  deal  to 
Henry  Upson.  He —  I  say,  Aunt  Emma,  what's 
that  blue  bag  for?" 

57 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

"  It's  for  the  baby  to  creep  in,  Tom.  It's  the 
best  possible  thing  for  him — creeping,  I  mean. 
It's  so  perfectly  natural — it's  one  of  the  stages 
of—" 

"It  '11  be  his  last  appearance  on  this  or  any 
stage  if  he  creeps  much  in  that,"  commented  the 
baby's  father  decidedly.  "  He'll  smother.  What's 
he  got  to  do  it  in  a  bag  for,  anyway?  How  will 
he  see  where  he's  going?  Are  those  eyeholes?" 

Mr.  Wilbour  handled  the  bag  distrustfully;  his 
wife  giggled. 

"Those  are  for  his  arms,  Tom,  of  course." 

"His  arms?     His  arms?" 

"  It  ties  up  around  his  neck  —  here  are  the 
strings,  you  see." 

Mr.  Wilbour  shook  his  head  silently  and 
scratched  a  match.  "Good  heavens!"  he  mur 
mured,  after  an  interval  of  self-communion — 
"good  heavens!" 

To  Master  Wilbour  the  bag  appeared  as  one 
more  of  the  extraordinary  series  of  entertain 
ments  provided  by  his  thoughtful  family  for  his 
relaxation.  He  chuckled  wisely  when  his  mother 
explained  its  uses  to  him  in  the  confidential  man 
ner  she  invariably  adopted,  and  thrust  an  in 
quiring  finger  through  the  much-discussed  arm- 
holes.  Then  he  shook  his  head  decidedly. 

"You  don't  care  for  it,  then?"  she  inquired 
58 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

solicitously.  "  I  thought  you  wouldn't.  But 
you  must  put  it  on  to  please  Aunt  Emma.  You 
needn't  wear  it  long." 

"You  see,  Binks,  unless  you  hitch  along  over 
the  rugs  you'll  never  qualify,"  his  father  added 
seriously;  "never  in  the  world.  You  must  con 
sider  that  psychologically  speaking  your  reeling 
and  writhing  and  stretching  in  coils  represent  the 
aspirations  of  your  Dawning  Soul.  Personally 
speaking,  I  should  say  it  was  much  as  ever  you 
had  a  soul.  I  didn't  suppose  they  got  'em  so 
early.  But  if  you  have  one,  and  if  your  present 
actions  anything  like  represent  it,  I  hope  for  your 
sake  it  hasn't  dawned  yet,  because  really.  .  .  " 

Martin  Brinkerhoff  was  lying  on  his  stomach 
on  the  rug,  with  his  heels  in  the  air.  His  hands 
were  clasped  firmly  at  the  back  of  his  head,  which 
he  was  endeavoring  to  drive  into  the  floor,  to  the 
imminent  danger  of  his  nose.  Though  nearly 
purple  in  the  face  from  his  exertions,  he  bravely 
disregarded  the  almost  certain  extinction  of  his 
most  prominent  feature,  and  though  occasional 
involuntary  little  yelps  of  pain  indicated  that  his 
present  ambition  was  not  unattended  by  suffer 
ing,  he  ceased  not  from  his  mysterious  efforts. 

"  Far  from  aspiration,  my  dear  girl,  if  anything 
ever  indicated  a  passion  for  grovelling  in  the 
mire — " 

59 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

"Tommy!" 

"I  speak  symbolically,  of  course,  Toots.  Do 
you  happen  to  remember  a  description  of  any 
such  performance?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Mrs.  Wilbour  owned,  truthfully. 
"I  remember  reaching  out  the  arms  was  growth 
and  aspiration  —  there  was  something  out  of 
Browning  under  that  —  and  clinching  the  fists 
was  struggle  with  the  lower  powers,  and  throwing 
back  the  head  was  defiance  of  cramping  condi 
tions —  " 

"Now,  my  dear  girl,  you  may  just  tell  Aurora 
from  me  that  there  she  is  far,  far  from  the  truth. 
If  she  thinks  you  can  defy  cramps  by  throwing 
back  your  head— 

"Nonsense,  Tommy!  You  know  very  well. 
But  there's  nothing  whatever  about  burrowing 
your  nose  into  the  floor — nothing." 

"  I'm  glad  there's  not.  I  should  hate  to  know 
what  it  symbolized.  He's  probably  doomed. 
For  heaven's  sake,  Binks,  spare  that  rug!  You'll 
go  through  the  planking.  As  a  good  imitation 
of  an  Artesian  well  you  would  draw  a  neat  salary 
on  any  vaudeville  stage,  but  as  a  Dawning  Soul 
you  leave  too  much  to  the  imagination." 

They  rolled  their  son  over  on  his  back  and 
kissed  each  other  irrelevantly,  while  he  derided 
them  with  open  laughter.  Aunt  Emma  discov- 

60 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

ered  them  inserting  his  wriggling  person  into  the 
bag,  and  was  forced  to  witness  the  undignified 


"SUSY    SHOOK   HER    RESENTFUL   SON   OUT   OF  THE   BAG" 

spectacle  of  her  grandnephew  with  his  plump 
and  protesting  legs  thrust  through  the  neatly 

61 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

bound  holes,  and  the  source  of  his  indignant  re 
monstrance  momentarily  concealed! 

"Tom,  you  will  certainly  injure  him  —  he's 
smothering!" 

"Not  a  bit,  Aunt  Emma,  he's  aspiring;  see  his 
arms!  Heavens!  that  child  is  all  soul — all!  I 
wish  Aurora  could  see  him!" 

Convulsed  with  laughter,  Susy  shook  her  re 
sentful  son  out  of  the  bag,  and  Aunt  Emma 
stayed  all  reproofs  in  the  interest  of  superin 
tending  the  decorous  adjustment  of  the  blue 
denim  anomaly.  Presently  he  sat  upon  her  lap, 
the  string  pulled  taut  about  his  neck,  looking 
like  a  bewildered  little  merboy  with  an  unfin 
ished  tail. 

"  Oh,  Tommy,  we  ought  to  have  his  picture — 
we  really  ought!  If  we  only  had  Will  Sears's 
camera!  Isn't  he  too  dear  and  funny  for  any 
thing?" 

"That's  certainly  William  Sears's  best  point 
— his  camera,"  Mr.  Wilbour  agreed  thoughtful 
ly.  "I  wish  we  had  it.  Well,  now,  ring  up. 
Binks,  creep  away!  Where  are  you  planning 
to  creep  first?  Would  you  like  a  stroll  in  the 
Park?  I  say,  let's  start  him  up-stairs — then  if  he 
falls,  he'll  fall  into  the  bag!  How's  that?"  ' 

Aunt  Emma  affected  not  to  hear  this  sugges 
tion,  but  rose  carefully,  the  blue  denim  parcel  in 

62 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

her  arms,  and  deposited  it  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  "Now,  Martin,  come  over  here  to  Aunt 
Emma — come!"  she  said  invitingly. 

Martin  regarded  her  with  a  certain  interest, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  move. 

"Come,  dear!  Come  to  Aunt  Emma!"  she  re 
peated. 

He  looked  at  her  with  distinct  reproach.  "  How 
can  I  come,  tied  up  like  this?"  his  eyes  inquired. 

"Come  along — there's  plenty  of  room  in  the 
bag:  you  can  move  in  it,"  she  urged. 

Martin's  face  indicated  forcibly  that  Aunt 
Emma's  unstinted  appreciation  of  the  bag  caused 
him  to  regret  extremely  his  obvious  and  humiliat 
ing  inability  to  bestow  it  upon  her. 

"  Put  it  on,  if  there's  so  much  room  in  it,  and 
enjoy  it  yourself,"  he  seemed  to  suggest. 

Then  as  his  mother  smiled  seductively  at  him 
and  his  father  rattled  a  never-failing  watch-chain, 
firm  determination  replaced  a  growing  distrust  in 
his  expressive  countenance,  and  swaying  a  little 
as  he  lay,  to  gather  the  requisite  momentum, 
he  began  to  revolve  suddenly  in  their  direction. 
The  uncanny  spectacle  of  an  animated  blue  bun 
dle  whirling  more  or  less  uncertainly  towards  them 
held  all  three  speechless  for  a  moment ;  then  Aunt 
Emma  rushed  upon  the  object  and  shook  it  re 
provingly. 

63 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"Martin  Wilbour,  I  am  ashamed  of  you!"  she 
declared.  "Did  anybody  ever  see  such  an  ob 
stinate  child?  Won't  you  do  anything  you're 
expected  to?  Don't  you  intend  to  creep  at  all? 
He  can't  roll  this  way,  can  he,  Tom?  He'll  get 
-he'll  get—" 

"Apoplexy  at  the  least,  I  should  say,"  his 
father  assured  her  promptly.  "  What  should  you 
think  this  symbolized,  Aunt  Em?  If  this  is  the 
way  his  soul  dawns,  what  will  it  be  at  noon  ?  Did 
Aurora  post  you  on  this  pinwheel  game?" 

"No,  Tom,"  answered  Miss  Wilbour  in  all  sim 
plicity,  "and  I  can't  think  what  it  could  possibly 
represent!" 

"Probably  that  he  will  gather  no  moss,"  Tom 
suggested  gravely,  "if  there's  anything  in  that 
idea." 

Miss  Wilbour  looked  vague.  "I  suppose  so," 
she  assented  politely,  to  the  intense  satisfaction 
of  her  young  relatives,  who  hugged  each  other 
furtively  behind  the  davenport. 

"Really,  though,  the  best  we've  had  has  been 
this  Creeping  Child  one,  Tom.  You  see,  there 
are  so  many  comparisons.  Man  in  the  Dark 
Ages,  and  then  the  cave-dwellers,  and  then  the 
soul,  generally.  Before  it  realizes,  you  know. 
Just  groping  and  stumbling  along,  and  then  sud 
denly  it  stands  upright  and — and — " 

65 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

"And  there  you  are,"  Tom  concluded  chari 
tably.  "Yes,  indeed,  Aunt  Emma.  Five  dol 
lars  for  the  course,  I  understand?  It's  cheap  at 
the  price.  But  observe  my  son!" 

For  Master  Wilbour,  realizing  that  unless  he 


"HE   THEN    RAISED   HIMSELF    WITH    A    CERTAIN    DIFFICULTY" 


resorted  to  summary  measures  he  would  probably, 
like  the  famous  lady  in  Mr.  Lear's  box,  pass  all 

66 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

his  life  in  that  bag,  was  carrying  out  a  truly  Na 
poleonic  scheme. 

Rolling  with  wonderful  precision  to  the  cor 
ner  of  the  davenport,  he  began  a  process  of  back 
ing  and  filling  which  lasted  till  he  had  established 
himself  at  the  desired  angle  to  that  piece  of  fur 
niture.  He  then  raised  himself  with  a  certain 
difficulty  to  his  knees,  from  which  position  he 
stared  solemnly  at  them  for  a  moment,  as  if  hop 
ing  to  soften  their  hearts  and  win,  if  possible, 
without  playing  his  great  card.  But  they  were 
adamant.  No  one  lifted  a  hand  to  rid  him  of 
that  hated  blue  bag.  With  a  sigh  he  put  up  his 
pudgy  arms,  and  catching  at  the  heavy  carving 
on  the  leg  of  the  davenport,  essayed  to  rise.  He 
had  not  calculated  the  distance  with  sufficient  ac 
curacy,  however,  and  fell  back  with  a  thud. 

But  he  was  not  his  great-aunt's  nephew  for 
nothing,  and  a  second  attempt  saw  him  balancing 
unsteadily  in  his  bag,  undignified,  it  may  be,  but 
erect  at  least. 

Now  he  unclasped  the  fingers  of  one  hand  from 
the  carving,  now  the  other,  and  stood  before  them 
absolutely  unrupported.  They  held  their  breath, 
as  at  the  crucial  moment  of  a  trapeze  performance. 
What  would  he  do  next? 

With  infinite  care  he  advanced  one  leg,  and 
then,  more  rapidly,  the  other.  For  one  sublime 

67 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

and  tottering  moment  he  stood  proudly  before 
them,  stranded  between  them  and  the  davenport, 
a  confessed  pedestrian,  while  they  gaped  in  de- 


"AND  STOOD  BEFORE  THEM  ABSOLUTELY  UNSUPPORTED" 


lighted  wonder;  and  then  with  a  mighty  stride 
he  collapsed  into  the  bag,  whose  folds  enveloped 
him  completely. 

Mr.   Wilbour   lifted   him   from   the   floor   and 
68 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

handed  him  dramatically  to  Aunt  Emma.  "  Take 
that  fool  thing  off,  Aunt  Emma,"  he  commanded. 
"It's  an  insult  to  any  child,  capable  of  doing 
ground-and-lofty  tumbling  while  tied  up  in  a  bag, 
to  expect  him  to  waste  his  time  creeping.  He'd 
much  better  be  at  dancing-school.  Why,  good 
heavens!  I  couldn't  do  that  myself!" 

Aunt  Emma  untied  the  strings  meekly,  and 
her  grandnephew  emerged  triumphant. 

"  It  wasn't  that  I  wanted  to  force  him  to  creep, 
Tom,"  she  explained,  "but  I  thought  that,  be 
sides  being  good  for  him,  it  might  amuse  him. 
Miss  Utleigh  says — " 

"Amuse  him!  It  was  likely  to!  Why,  Aunt 
Emma,  would  it  amuse  you  to  go  through  life 
sewed  up  in  a  bolster-case?  But  the  things  that 
are  expected  to  amuse  a  child — " 

"That's  just  it,"  Susy  interrupted,  with  feel 
ing.  "What  do  you  suppose  that  dreadful  old 
Mrs.  Fuller  advised  me  to  do?  She  said  that  she 
used  to  sit  her  grandson  on  the  floor  and  smear 
his  hands  with  molasses,  and  then  drop  little 
puffs  of  down  on  one  hand — little  soft  feathers, 
you  know.  They'd  stick  to  one  hand,  and  he'd 
pull  them  off,  and  then  they'd  stick  to  the  hand 
he  pulled  them  off  with,  you  see,  and  so  on.  She 
said  he'd  play  with  perfect  content  that  way  for 
hours  at  a  time." 

6  69 


THB    MEMOIRS    OT    A    BABY 

"Which  asylum  is  he  in  now?"  her  husband  in 
quired  with  interest. 

"Wasn't  it  dreadful,  Tommy?  That  poor, 
helpless  little  child !" 

"  I  suppose  she  reasoned  that  in  the  course  of 
nature  she'd  be  dead  before  he  got  big  enough 
to  kill  her,"  Mr.  Wilbour  remarked  philosophi 
cally.  "  But  you  can't  always  tell  about  that 
sort  of  thing.  He  might  have  been  strong  for  his 
age." 

"  I  had  to  tell  Dorothy  that  we  couldn't  let  him 
have  a  kitten  this  morning,"  Susy  went  on,  still 
looking  proudly  at  her  son,  who  resting  on  his 
recent  laurels,  was  lying  placidly  on  the  rug. 

"Miss  Utleigh  says  that  nothing  understands 
young  life  like  young  life  itself,"  Aunt  Emma  sug 
gested.  "  She  gave  her  sister's  little  girl  a  spaniel 
puppy  when  she  was  a  year  old.  They  grew  up 
together.  Martin  just  loves  that  woolly  dog  now, 
and  a  kitten  is  different  from  a  cat.  It  would 
teach  him  gentleness,  Susy,  and  a  respect  for  life 
in  all  its — er — manifestations,"  she  quoted,  some 
what  apologetically. 

"Well,"  Susy  agreed,  "if  you  think  so,  Aunt 
Emma,  and  one  of  us  was  always  in  the  room 
with  him.  Dorothy  left  the  kitten  to  stop  for 
on  her  way  from  kindergarten.  You  might  bring 
it  up,  Tom." 

70 


OR   ELSE   HIS   SOUL  HASN  T   DAWNED   QUITE   SO 
FAR  AS  YOU  THOUGHT'" 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Tom,  who  consistently  regarded  his  son  as  a 
professional  entertainment,  and  derived  an  im 
personal  joy  from  every  experiment  of  which  the 
long-suffering  infant  was  made  the  object,  ran 
lightly  down  the  stairs  and  returned  immediately 
with  a  dejected  gray  kitten,  held  by  the  neck. 
"You're  sure  it  won't  suck  his  breath,  or  any 
thing  like  that?"  he  inquired. 

"Not  while  I'm  here,"  said  Aunt  Emma. 
"Now,  Martin,  smooth  the  kitty — it  won't  hurt 
you!  Pat  it." 

She  took  his  fat  little  hand  and  stroked  the 
gray  fur  with  it. 

At  the  soft  contact  a  flash  lit  in  his  eye ;  an 
expression  of  determination  spread  over  his  face ; 
he  laid  both  hands  on  the  kitten  firmly. 

"There,  see  how  he  loves  it,"  Aunt  Emma 
cried,  but  even  as  the  words  left  her  lips,  an  an 
guished  wail  from  the  cat  and  a  happy  howl  from 
Martin  Brinkerhoff  directed  their  attention  to  his 
occupation,  which  consisted  of  twisting  the  kit 
ten's  neck  with  one  hand  and  pulling  out  a  hand 
ful  of  fur  from  its  stomach  with  the  other. 

As  his  father  separated  him  with  difficulty 
from  his  victim,  and  the  color  returned  to  Susy's 
cheeks,  Aunt  Emma  swallowed  hard  a  moment 
and  spoke. 

"I  think  perhaps  Miss  Utleigh's  niece  was — 
72 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

was  different,"  she  said  ("Don't  throw  the  poor 
kitten  down  so  hard,  Tom "),  "or  else — 

"Or  else  his  soul  hasn't  dawned  quite  so  far 
as  you  thought,"  muttered  Mr.  Wilbour  grimly, 
nursing  a  long  red  scratch  on  his  thumb,  "  I  told 
you!" 


IV 


WHICH    DEALS   WITH    ONE   LITTLE  LIFE 

JHETHER  Aunt  Emma's  experience 
T(3lR  with  Miss  Utleigh  had  broken  her 
\A/  BO  trust  for  a  while  in  all  professional 
educators  of  extreme  youth,  or 
whether  the  prospect  of  a  longer 
visit  from  home  than  she  usually  permitted  her 
self  occupied  her  attention  during  the  next  month, 
was  unknown  to  her  small  family;  but  the  fact 
remained  that  with  the  last  of  Aurora's  lectures 
a  noticeable  absence  of  successor  to  that  lady's 
mantle  compelled  remark. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  in  this  connection  that 
any  obvious  occasion  for  comment  was  allowed 
to  pass  unobserved  by  young  Mr.  Wilbour,  who, 
to  use  his  aunt's  phrase,  had  never  appeared  to 
be  at  all  afraid  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice ;  and 

74 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

that  gentleman  might  have  been  seen  one  morn 
ing  hanging  solicitously,  if  somewhat  en  neglige, 
over  the  side  of  his  son's  geometrical  brass  crib, 
apostrophizing  him  in  the  following  mournful 
vein: 

"Gone  to  the  dogs!  Alas,  poor  Binks!  Given 
up,  thrust  out  on  his  cold  parents,  not  worth  the 
paper  he's  printed  on,  so  to  say!" 

"Why,  Tom  Wilbour!     What  do  you  mean?" 
Susy  came  in  from  the  bath-room,  holding  her 
red  wrapper  excitedly  about  her,  one  little  bare 
foot  sunk  in  the  rug. 


"'GONE  TO  THE  DOGS!     ALAS,  POOR  BINKS!'" 
75 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"Poor  child!  poor  child!  'Here  a  little  and 
there  a  little,'  as  the  Psalmist — or  Shakespeare 
— or  Franklin — said,  'line  upon  line,  precept — '" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Tom,  what  is  it?" 

—upon  precept,"  the  orator  continued, 
gloomily,  oblivious,  apparently,  of  any  but  his 
intended  audience,  "but  he  wasn't  worth  it  in  the 
end.  A  good  baby  and  a  kind  one,  he  couldn't 
stand  the  pace." 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
Susy  remarked,  coiling  her  hair  more  composed 
ly,  "but  'precept  upon  precept'  wasn't  the 
Psalmist — that's  David.  It  was — er — it  was — 
well,  you  know  who  it  was,  Tommy,  somewhere 
in  the  middle  of  the  Bible." 

"Ruth!"  Mr.  Wilbour  exclaimed,  with  the  air 
of  a  desperate  Sunday-school  scholar  driven  into 
a  hole. 

"Of  course  not." 

"Lamentations?"  he  ventured,  with  a  pathetic 
seriousness. 

"How  absurd!" 

"  I  know — the  Apocrypha — if  that's  what  you 
call  it.  We  never  had  any  in  our  Bible.  But  I 
know  a  man  that  had.  And  it  was  in  the  exact 
middle,  the  ex — act  middle!" 

"Now  there's  where  you're  wrong,"  Susy  an 
swered  briskly.  "  It  comes  between  the  Old  and 

76 


'"WHY,  TOM  WILBOUR!     WHAT  DO  YOU  MEAN?'" 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

New  Testament,  and  the  Old  Testament  is  ever 
so  much  longer,  more  than  twice — or  three  times. 
Or  four,  maybe.  So  it's  not  in  the  middle,  it's 
about  three-quarters — 

"  My  poor  girl,  I  meant  the  actual  middle,  not 
the  apparent  one  of  mere  pages.  Could  any 
thing  be  more  middle — or  middler,  if  you  like— 
than  the  division  between  the  two  chief  parts  of 
the  Bible?" 

Tom  leaned  back  judicially,  his  elbows  bearing 
his  weight  on  the  bar  of  the  crib ;  Susy  stood  in 
an  argumentative  attitude  on  one  foot,  nursing 
the  other  to  keep  it  warm.  To  Aunt  Emma,  who 
approached  at  this  point  for  her  morning  call  on 
her  grandnephew,  their  uncomfortable  positions 
were  equalled  only  by  their  extraordinary  dis 
cussion. 

"The  middle  of  the  Bible,"  Susy  declared 
warmly,  giving  an  involuntary  hop  to  restore  the 
balance  her  emphasis  had  endangered,  "is  where 
the  middle  of  any  book  is — you  divide  the  num 
ber  of  pages  by  two.  Everybody  knows  that, 
Tommy." 

"The  middle  of  the  Bible,"  her  husband  in 
sisted,  slipping  on  the  brass  rim  and  catching 
himself  by  the  elbows  with  more  difficulty  than 
grace,  "is  where  Births,  Marriages,  and  Deaths 
is,  and  anybody  who  doesn't  know  that — 

78 


'SUSY  STOOD  IN  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE 
ATTITUDE" 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

"  But  suppose  there  weren't  any  in  your  Bible? 
There  aren't  in  mine." 

"Then  there  ought  to  be,  and  you've  got  a 
mighty  poor  one,  Toots,  that's  all  I  have  to  say, 
and  you  ought  to  change  it  the  first  chance  you 
get." 

With  this  triumphant  retort  Mr.  Wilbour  very 
nearly  lost  his  hold  on  the  crib  and  went  through 
gymnastic  feats  of  unusual  distinction  in  order 
to  regain  it  without  moving  his  hands,  to  the  frank 
admiration  of  his  wife. 

Aunt  Emma  could  endure  no  more,  and  strode 
into  the  room. 

"Are  you  out  of  your  minds?"  she  demanded. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Susy,  put  your 
foot  down  this  moment!  Have  you  hurt  it?" 

"  No,  Aunt  Emma,  I  only  happened — 

"And  Tom,  may  I  ask  you  if  it  is  your  in 
tention  to  spend  the  morning  here  arguing  over 
the  middle  of  the  Bible?  I  could  not  have 
believed  it  if  I  hadn't  heard  it.  Such  utter 
nonsense — " 

"On  the  contrary,  Aunt  Emma,"  her  nephew 
interrupted,  wrapping  his  bath -robe  modestly 
about  him  and  assuming  an  oratorical  attitude, 
"it  is  a  matter  of  more  impor — 

"It  is  a  matter  of  no  importance  whatever," 
Miss  Wilbour  concluded  summarily.  "This  is  a 

80 


"ASSUMING  AN  ORATORICAL  ATTITUDE" 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

very  sudden  interest  on  your  part,  too.  If  you 
would  read  your  Bible  more  and  discuss  it  less — 

He  fled  to  his  room,  and  Aunt  Emma  turned 
her  attention  upon  her  niece. 

"And  you  are  every  whit  as  bad,  Susy.  What 
possessed  you  to  begin  such  a  subject  before  you 
were  dressed?" 

"  It  was  Tom,"  Susy  admitted  with  a  giggle ;  "  he 
was  saying  that  the  poor  baby  had  nobody  but 
his  parents,  and  a  lot  of  nonsense,  and  some  way 
or  other  we  got  on  to  the  Apocrypha." 

Miss  Wilbour  still  looked  doubtful,  but  the  ref 
erence  to  the  baby's  deserted  condition  evidently 
touched  and  pleased  her,  and  she  bent  over  his 
crib  without  further  comment. 

"Did  Aunt  Emma  go  away  and  leave  Martin? 
Well,  here  she  is  back  again,"  she  announced, 
"and  she  didn't  forget  him,  either — not  a  min 
ute  of  the  time." 

The  object  of  this  constancy  rewarded  it  with 
a  perfunctory  smile  and  resumed  the  contem 
plation  of  his  toes.  These,  to  his  never-failing 
and  delighted  surprise,  continued  to  be  ten  in 
number,  no  matter  how  suddenly  and  without 
warning  he  descended  upon  them;  his  startled 
cataloguing  of  the  suspicious  members  consti 
tuted  at  present  his  chief  employment,  and  the 
subsequent  deep  breath  of  relief  on  finding  that 

82 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

all  was  well  and  not  one  of  them  had  escaped 
his  vigilance  was  one  of  the  joys  of  his  parents. 
Tom  evolved  from  this  recent  interest  the  theory 


"THE  OBJECT  OF  THIS  CONSTANCY  RESUMED  THE  CONTEMPLATION 
OF  HIS  TOES" 


that  Martin  would  grow  up  to  one  of  two  fates: 
"Either  he'll  be  a  car-conductor  or — 

At  Aunt  Emma's  indignant  interruption  to  the 
effect  that  he  ought  not  to  say  that  Martin  would 
ever  grow  up  to  be  a  car-conductor,  Tom  would 
blandly  inquire  if  she  would  rather  infer  that  the 
child  would  die  in  youth,  whereupon  Susy  would 
weep,  and  his  immediate  and  effective  consola- 

83 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

tion  interfered  with  his  ever  explaining  the  second 
possible  fate  of  his  son. 

Aunt  Emma's  absent  thoughts  of  her  grand- 
nephew  had  not  been  without  fruit,  for  on  seeing 
Susy  in  train  for  a  proper  completion  of  her  toilet, 
she  left  the  loom,  to  return  shortly  with  a  large 
flat  box  in  her  hand. 

"A  friend  of  Cousin  Ella's  had  just  given  one 
of  these  to  a  young  friend  of  hers,  Susy,"  she  ex 
plained,  "and  I  thought  how  it  would  be  just 
the  thing  for  you  and  Martin — I  wish  we'd  had 
it  before.  Isn't  it  a  sweet  idea?" 

Opening  the  box  with  interest,  Susy  drew  forth 
a  large,  elaborately  bound  blank  book :  the  covers 
were  of  burnt  leather;  the  binding,  laced  pieces 
of  the  same  material;  the  leaves,  thick,  creamy 
paper.  It  had  come,  without  doubt,  from  a 
Woman's  Exchange.  The  title,  artistically  burnt 
in  straggling  Japanese  letters,  read  as  follows : 

One  Little  Life: 

For  Baby  and  Mother, 

and  below  ran  some  lines  of  pleasing  doggerel. 

Keep  this,  mother,  for  me, 

And  when  I'm  grown  up  you'll  see 

Just  what  I  used  to  be! 

"Why,  yes,  indeed,  Aunt  Emma!  What  do 
you  do  with  it?" 

84 


'WHAT  DO  YOU  DO  WITH  IT?'" 


THD    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"  You  see,  it's  a  diary,  Susy,  and  you  put  down 
all  the  events  of  his  life,  as  they  come.  First  his 
birthday,  you  know,  and  then  his  name  and  the 
christening  party,  and — 

"  But  he  didn't  have  any,  Aunt  Emma!" 

"  Oh,  well,  leave  that  page  out,  then,  of  course, 
but  it's  a  pity,  the  picture  for  it  is  so  pretty. 
Here's  where  they  all  sign,  you  see.  Then  here 
are  their  presents,  and  they  write  down  their 
wishes  for  the  baby— 

"Aunt  Ella  wished  he  mightn't  grow  up  so 
near-sighted  as  Tommy,"  Susy  murmured  rem- 
iniscently.  "How  would  that  do  to  put  down, 
Aunt  Emma?" 

"What  nonsense,  my  dear!  How  ridiculous! 
It  doesn't  mean  that  sort  of  thing.  Really  seri 
ous  wishes — " 

"  But  she  was  serious.  Goodness,  Aunt  Emma, 
if  you  knew  how  conceited  Aunt  Ella  is  about 
her  eyes,  and  how  she  pities  everybody  so  that 
wears  glasses — " 

"  I  have  known  Ella  Wilbour  for  fifty  years, 
my  dear,  twenty-six  years  before  you — 

"  Yes,  I  know.  What  kind  of  wishes  do  they 
put  in?" 

"  Why,  pleasant,  poetical-sounding  things,  Susy. 
You  know  what  I  mean.  Of  course  if  one  of  them 
happens  to  be  a  clergyman,  they  always  do  that 

86 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

sort  of  thing  nicely.  This  friend  of  Ella's  had 
hers  pretty  well  made  out — her  baby  was  three 
years  old — and  she  was  delighted  to  show  it  to 
us.  An  uncle  of  hers  was  a  clergyman,  secre 
tary  of  the  House  of  Bishops,  and  he  wrote  such 
a  charming  wish — he  wrote  so  beautifully,  too — 
about  his  little  white  feet  wandering  through  this 
dark,  soiled  earth,  and  then  walking  up  to  heav 
en  just  as  white  as  they  were  now,  some  day, 
after  long  years — " 

"Great  Scott!"  the  voice  of  her  nephew  inter 
posed,  "who  was  this?  What  was  the  matter 
with  him,  anyway?  Did  I  hear  you  say  it  was 
a  secretary?  It  sounds  more  like — or  perhaps 
you  meant  a  piece  of  furniture?" 

"You'd  better  go  on  down-town,  Tom — you'll 
be  late. 

"  We'll  skip  that  page,  then,  Susy,  and  pass  on 
to  the  next.  Here's  his  weight.  Isn't  that  a 
cunning  picture? — and  then  you  can  put  it  down 
every  week  for  a  while,  and  then  every  month." 

"  But  we  haven't  got  it,  Aunt  Emma — except 
just  the  first  one  or  two.  After  Dr.  Blanchard 
said  he  was  doing  so  well  and  gaining  so  regularly, 
nobody  weighed  him  particularly,  that  I  know, 
or  anyway,  we  didn't  keep  it." 

"  Oh,  well,  we'll  just  let  that  go — though  Ella's 
friend  had  every  single  blank  filled  in,"  Miss  Wil- 

87 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

hour  returned,  "he  gained  surprisingly.  But  then, 
he  was  very  small  to  begin  with.  Now  comes  his 
first  picture;  you  see  here's  a  place  to  fit  it  in. 
We  can  use  that  one  that  Cousin  Theodore  didn't 
want  because  of  the  smudge  on  the  corner. 

"  Then  here's  the  first  thing  he  seemed  to  notice. 
Mrs.  Ward's  baby  was  being  held  up  by  the  win 
dow  one  day,  and  he  looked  straight  at  the  clouds 
—they  were  big,  heavy  ones — and  tried  to  point 
at  them;  and  her  sister  is  an  artist,  and  she 
sketched  the  prettiest  little  landscape  in  here — 
mostly  clouds  —  and  colored  it  in  water  -  colors. 
It  was  really  lovely." 

"But,  Aunt  Emma,  what  could  we  put  here? 
because  you  know  Binks  noticed  everything  from 
the  moment  he  opened  his  eyes." 

"Susy,  my   dear!" 

"  Oh,  more  or  less,  I  mean.  Everybody  always 
said  so.  His  eyes  never  looked  that  horrid,  swim- 
my,  empty  way." 

"Well,  there  must  have  been  one  first  thing 
that  you  thought  of  at  the  time,  Susy." 

"I  don't  believe  I  remember — it  never  occur 
red  to  me  somehow,  Aunt  Emma,  to  think  I  ought 
to  notice.  I  always  thought  he  saw  everything." 

At  Aunt  Emma's  look  of  resignation  Susy 
frowned  strenuously  and  struggled  with  her  rec 
reant  memory.  Presently  she  was  rewarded. 

88 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

"Oh,  I  do  remember!"  she  cried,  with  relief. 
"  I  know  Mary  did  say  to  me  once,  '  There,  now, 
Mrs.  Wilbour,  if  you'll  see  him  taking  notice!' 

"  It  was  when  that  plaster  fell  in  the  parlor,  and 
I'd  begun  to  come  down-stairs,  and  Mary  had  the 
baby  in  her  arms,  and  he  looked  at  the  hole  in 
the  wall  and  laughed  at  it.  That  was  it,  Aunt 
Emma,  that  hole!" 

Aunt  Emma  looked  highly  dissatisfied.  She 
fluttered  the  pages  of  the  book  nervously. 

"Are  you  sure  you're  right,  Susy?"  she  asked, 
"quite  sure?" 

"  Why,  yes,  Aunt  Emma.  That's  why  I  was 
thinking  so  hard — to  make  sure." 

"But  I  don't  believe  anybody  —  anybody,1' 
Aunt  Emma  announced  with  severity,  "could 
make  a  pretty  picture  out  of  a  hole!" 

"N-no,"  Susy  agreed  after  a  moment,  "no, 
I  don't  suppose  they  could.  But  it's  the  first 
thing  he  saw." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  very  interesting-looking,  even," 
Aunt  Emma  objected  again. 

"  I  know,  and  it  wouldn't  be  easy  to  make  a 
picture  of,  anyway.  But  it  is  the  first  thing  he 
saw." 

"I  think,"  said  Aunt  Emma,  with  decision, 
"  that  we  will  think  up  some  pretty  thing  that  he 
noticed,  one  that  Valeria  Bell  can  make  a  good 

89 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

picture  of  for  this  page.  She  does  some  things 
very  nicely.  She  really  succeeds  best  with  trees," 
she  went  on,  pausing  tentatively  here,  as  if  to 
give  Susy  time  to  recall  her  son's  early  ecstasies 
at  the  welcome  sight  of  some  of  his  favorite  for 
est  monarchs. 

But  Susy  failed  to  rise  to  this  bait. 

"Of  course,  Aunt  Emma,"  she  agreed,  but  evi 
dently  with  only  a  perfunctory  interest,  now  that 
all  her  thoughtful  memory  had  gone  for  nothing — 
"of  course  if  you  mean  that  Binks  must  have  no 
ticed  other  things  besides  that  hole  in  the  par 
lor  wall,  I  agree  with  you  perfectly.  He  has 
probably  often  looked  at  a  great  many  beauti 
ful  things.  But  that  was  the  first  thing  he  saw." 

Aunt  Emma  shut  the  book  forcibly. 

"You  have  the  most  exasperating  habit  of  re 
peating  yourself  sometimes,  Susy,"  she  stated 
succinctly,  and  departed,  the  book  under  her  arm, 
a  habit  she  had  of  dealing  with  gifts  felt  by  her 
to  be  insufficiently  appreciated. 

But  her  temper  was  well  recovered  by  dinner 
time,  and  her  spirit  soothed  by  Mary's  providen 
tial  recollection  of  her  grandnephew's  instant  and 
early  appreciation  of  an  obstreperous  and  over 
grown  rubber-plant  long  dear  to  her  heart.  Va 
leria  could  compass  its  irregularities  with  ease, 
she  was  sure,  and  she  unfolded  the  plan  to  her 

90 


THE    MEMOIRS    OT    A    BABY 

nephew  at  dinner,  who  nodded  cordially  when 
asked  to  corroborate  Mary's  story,  having  been 
mentioned  by  her  as  an  eye-witness  to  the  event. 

"You  can  bet  he  noticed  it,  Aunt  Emma,"  the 
youthful  observer's  father  agreed.  "So  far  as 
that — that  rubber-plant  goes,  that  child  is  a  reg 
ular  Rollo  at  Work.  And  why?  Because  it's  in 
his  blood.  The  fathers  have  barked  their  knees 
over  that  rubber  -  plant,  Aunt  Emma,  and  the 
children's  nerves  are  set  on  edge.  That's  pour- 
quoi,  if  you  want  to  know." 

He  was  shown  the  book  after  dinner,  with  his 
son's  early  failures  to  shine  in  the  first  pages  of 
it  glossed  over. 

"Now  here,"  explained  Aunt  Emma,  "is  when 
he  first  walked.  To  think  we  have  no  picture! 
But  we  can  take  a  view  of  the  room,  and  then 
mark  a  cross  where  he  stood." 

"No,  you  won't!"  Susy  cried  abruptly.  "I 
won't  have  it  done.  It  will  look  as  if  he  was 
dead,  Aunt  Emma!  You  sha'n't!" 

"Why,  Susy,  what  a  perfectly  ridiculous  idea! 
How  could  it  possibly?  You  have  the  most  ex 
traordinary  fancies.  But  of  course  if  you  insist, 
we  won't  take  any  picture." 

"Oh,  dear,  Aunt  Emma,  take  all  the  pictures 
you  want  to,  but  don't  mark  the  cross:  that's 
what  I  mean.  Don't  you  see  how  dreadful — ' ' 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"No,  I  don't.  However,  that's  not  my  affair, 
Susy.  Now  here  is  where  he  first  talked  —  his 
very  first  syllable — and  then  his  first  real  word. 
Mrs.  Ward  had  hers  done  in  gold  ink — wasn't  that 
sweet?" 

"As  Binks  isn't  speaking  for  publication  just 
now,  he  can't  qualify  there,"  his  father  observed 
easily.  "Now,  Toots,  don't  be  a  blessed  little 
idiot." 

It  was  a  matter  of  sickening  embarrassment  to 
young  Mrs.  Wilbour  that  her  son,  though  in  every 
other  regard  the  proud  superior  of  most  of  his 
years,  as  yet  refused  to  open  his  lips  for  any  other 
purpose  than  to  receive  nourishment.  Unsoothed 
by  the  repeated  statements  that  his  father  and 
grandfather  had  attained  conversational  powers 
late  in  life,  she  revolved  in  her  mind  the  prowess 
of  Dorothy  Sears,  who,  one  inferred,  held  conver 
sations  upon  the  simpler  domestic  problems  with 
her  parents  at  the  age  of  eight  months. 

"Oh,  we'll  soon  fill  this  up,"  Miss  Wilbour  as 
sured  them  hastily,  and  went  on.  "Here's  his 
first  tooth — you  sew  it  on  here — 

"Good  Lord!  do  you  pull  it  out  to  put  it  in 
that  book?  Doesn't  he  get  any  use  of  it?"  de 
manded  his  father.  "Of  all  the  mean  tricks — 

"Why,  Tom,  when  he's  all  through  with  it,  of 
course— 

92 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Oh,  when  he's  cast  it,  you  mean."  Mr.  Wil- 
bour  nodded  comprehendingly.  "  Oh,  well,  that's 
all  right,  if  you  like  the  idea.  Myself — " 

"I  think  it's  perfectly  disgusting,"  Susy  broke 
forth,  "and  it  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  sewing 
a  tooth  on  to  anything.  And  I  wouldn't  have  a 
tooth  of  my  baby  sewed  there  for  worlds  and 
worlds.  So  there!" 

She  picked  up  a  novel  and  read  aggressively. 
Aunt  Emma  stared  in  amazement.  Mr.  Wil- 
bour  smiled. 

"There's  One  Little  Life  that  isn't  laying  by 
material  for  the  biographers,  anyhow,"  he  mur 
mured  gently. 


V 


WHICH  DEALS  WITH  CHILD-STUDY  IN  THE  HOME 


Aunt  Emma  added  re 
gretfully,  "it  won't  be  as  if  we  had 
begun  it  from  the  very  first.  One 
these  books  tells  about  the  very 
first  hour  —  its  eyeballs  moved  in 
unison.  Did  you  notice,  Susy,  how  soon  Martin 
winked?  I  suppose  you  didn't." 

"Heavens,  no!"  Mrs.  Wilbour  declared,   "but 
he  probably  did,  didn't  he?     Directly,   I  mean. 
You  have  to  wink,  you  know,  Aunt  Emma." 
Aunt  Emma  smiled  in  a  superior  manner. 
"These  things  aren't  so  simple  as  they  seem, 
my  dear,"  she  explained.     "For  instance,  let  me 
read  you  this.     You  know  what  a  time  we  had 
trying  to  find  out  what  he  looked  at  first — really 
saw?     Well,  do  you  know  what  happens  then? 
It's  explained  here." 

From  three  books  in  her  lap  she  selected  one, 
and  read  from  it  to  her  attentive  niece,  who  was 

94 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

making  lace  and  chiffon  stock-collars  out  of  a 
fascinating  pile  of  odds  and  ends: 

"  This  was  what  the  baby  had  done,  and  I  do 
not  dare  to  say  how  many  philosophical  and  psy 
chological  discussions  are  involved  in  her  doing 
it.  Professor  Le  Conte  thinks  that  it  shows  an 
inborn  sense  of  direction,  since  the  eyes  are  turned, 
not  towards  the  side  on  which  the  ray  strikes  the  reti 
na,  but  towards  the  side  from  which  the  ray  enters 
the  eye;  that  is,  the  baby  thinks  out  along  the  line  of 
the  ray  to  the  object  it  comes  from,  thus  putting  the 
object  outside  himself,  in  space,  as  we  do.  Professor 
Wundt,  the  great  German — " 

"Good  heavens!  Aunt  Emma  Wilbour,  what 
does  that  mean?  Because  if  you  understand  it, 
I  don't.  Which  is  the  retina,  anyhow?  That 
middle  part — no,  that's  the  pupil.  Is  it  the  light 
kind  of  ring  around  it,  or  the  white  part?  Do 
you  notice  that  the  whites  of  his  eyes  are  blue? 
Just  like  Tom's.  Would  you  join  this  with  fag 
oting,  or  just  feather-stitch  it  together?" 

"Really,  Susy,  I  don't  know.  How  many  of 
those  things  are  you  going  to  make?  Ever  since 
you  learned  how,  you  have  done  nothing  else: 
one  would  think  sewing  was  a  game." 

"  But  it's  such  fun — and  this  is  for  you,  Aunt 
Emma!" 

"Why,  that's  very  kind  of  you,  my  dear,  I'm 
95 


THE    MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

sure.  I  think  you  do  the  fagoting  very  nicely, 
though  the  feather-stitching  is  always  neat,"  and 
Aunt  Emma  examined  the  fluffy  creation  with 
interest,  while  the  page  devoted  to  Professor 
Wundt,  that  great  German,  turned  over  all  un 
noticed  and  was  lost  to  view. 

But  what  Miss  Wilbour  was  wont  to  refer  to 
as  "  the  principle  of  the  thing"  was  far  from  being 
plunged  into  oblivion;  and  as  Susy  insisted  upon 
her  utter  inability  to  comprehend  the  scientific 
value  of  a  record  of  the  strength  of  her  son's  neck 
muscles  from  the  day  of  his  birth,  or  an  investi 
gation  of  his  perception  of  the  high  lights  on  the 
cheek-bones  of  the  human  countenance  as  dis 
tinct  from  patches  of  sunshine  on  the  wall,  her 
aunt  took  up  the  task,  and  the  unconscious  Mar 
tin  became  the  victim  of  h^r  tireless  note-book 
and  pencil. 

While  the  young  gentleman  himself  appeared 
absolutely  indifferent  to  this  remorseless  super 
vision,  so  much  could  not  be  said  for  his  little 
nursemaid.  For  some  reason  she  conceived  an 
inexplicable  horror  of  the  small  red  leather  book 
that  became  as  characteristic  a  portion  of  Miss 
Wilbour's  attire  as  her  glasses,  and  took  a  mali 
cious  pleasure  in  concealing  Martin  as  much  as 
possible  from  observation.  As  he  was  a  very 
quiet  child  this  was  no  difficult  feat,  and  since 

96 


CONCEALING    MARTIN 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

Aunt  Emma  scorned  direct  inquiry  as  to  his 
whereabouts,  a  sort  of  still-hunt  through  the  house 
was  in  continual  process — a  never-failing  delight 
to  Mr.  Thomas  Wilbour,  whom  his  aunt  almost 
suspected  of  tipping  Belle  with  a  tacit  apprecia 
tion  of  her  obstinate  stand  against  science. 

"What  does  she  do,  Toots?"  her  husband  de 
manded  curiously  one  Sunday  morning.  "That 
child  never  opens  his  mouth,  and  he  only  walks 
when  he  has  to.  Does  she  draw  pictures  of  him 
sprawling  around?  Or  does  she  just  make  marks 
in  the  book  in  order  to  drive  Belle  to  drink?  That 
girl  will  be  moved  to  crime  soon — I  see  it  in  her 
eyes." 

"  Hush,  Tommy!  Go  up  and  look,  if  you  want 
to  know.  I  think  they're  in  the  nursery." 

They  tiptoed  up  together  and  peered  through 
the  balusters.  Upon  the  floor,  stretched  on  his 
back  on  an  afghan,  lay  their  son,  motionless  as  a 
Buddha,  contemplative  of  the  ceiling.  In  a  low 
chair  by  the  window,  rocking  furiously,  sat  Belle, 
her  lips  flattened  somewhat  viciously,  her  hands 
grasping  an  orange  -  colored  novel.  Her  eyes, 
however,  were  not  concerned  with  the  book,  but 
with  the  movements  of  Miss  Wilbour,  who  sat 
by  the  opposite  window,  a  red  pencil  in  her  right 
hand,  a  red  note-book  in  her  left.  Except  for 
the  creaking  of  the  rocker,  the  room  was  silent. 

98 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

Belle  furtively  watched  Aunt  Emma,  who  openly 
stared  at  Martin  Brinkerhoff,  who  serenely  re 
garded  the  ceiling;  and  to  the  spectators  on  the 
stairs  the  group  seemed  charged  with  mystery. 
They  pressed  each  other's  hands  and  inquired  in 
dumb  show  if  it  would  be  safe  to  break  the  spell, 
but  moved  by  a  common  impulse,  withdrew 
softly. 

"How  long  will  they  sit  there?"  Mr.  Wilbour 
inquired  in  a  whisper  as  they  gained  the  lower 
hall.  "They  look  like  Jarley  wax -works  at  a 
Sunday-school  entertainment.  What  does  Aunt 
Emma  think  she's  doing?" 

"It's  in  that  blue  book.  She  showed  it  to 
Belle,  to  let  her  see  what  she  was  acting  that 
way  for.  Here  it  is — she  turned  the  page  down." 

Susy  pointed  to  an  underscored  sentence,  and 
her  husband  read  it  aloud: 

"  We  can  all,  no  doubt,  as  Rousseau  says, 
'  sit  reverently  at  the  feet  of  infancy,  watching 
and  learning.' 

"Oh!  I  see.  But  what  is  Aunt  Emma  learn 
ing  now?  How  to  protect  herself  when  Belle 
jumps  on  her?  Binks  is  far  from  troublesome, 
but  surely  he  is  not  instructive,  my  dear?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,  Tommy.  I  must  say  I 
think  it's  queer — he  doesn't  do  a  thing.  It  seems 
as  if  he  knew  Aunt  Emma  wanted  to  write  the 

99 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

things  down,  and  he  just  lies  still  and  smiles 
to  himself.  I  wish  to  goodness  he'd  do  some 
thing." 

Mr.  Wilbour  chuckled.  "  Perhaps  he  does 
things  when  her  back's  turned  —  he's  equal  to 
it!"  he  observed. 

"  That's  just  it,  Tom.  Belle  tells  the  greatest 
lot  of  cunning  things  he  does  when  she  takes  him 
out ;  but  she  won't  tell  Aunt  Emma,  she  just  tells 
me.  And  Aunt  Emma  won't  write  those  down; 
she  says  Belle's  not  to  be  trusted.  I  can  hardly 
keep  the  peace  between  them." 

"Let's  see  the  book,  anyhow,"  Mr.  Wilbour 
suggested.  "  Where'd  she  get  it?" 

"Why,  Miss  Utleigh  recommended  it  to  the 
club,  and  they  are  to  bring  in  reports  and  read 
them,  and  Aunt  Emma  feels  so  ashamed  because 
Binks  won't  do  a  thing.  Of  course,  eleven  months 
is  just  a  kind  of  between  age,  you  see,  and  most 
of  the  children  are  younger  or  older.  When  they 
talk  you  can  put  down  every  word,  and  make  out 
lists ;  and  when  they  notice  sounds  and  people  and 
things  like  that,  you  know,  when  they're  just  a 
few  months,  you  can  tell  about  that.  But  the 
way  he  counts  his  toes  and  the  time  he  walked 
in  the  bag  are  just  about  all  Aunt  Emma  has  to 
describe,  and  she  wants  more." 

"I  see."  Tom  was  flirting  the  leaves  of  the 
100 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

blue  book.  Suddenly  he  paused.  "  For  heaven's 
sake!"  he  murmured.  "Toots,  will  you  lend  me 
your  attention  for  a  moment? 

"  The  same  day  he  saw  a  dog  across  the  street. 
He  looked  intently  at  him  and  said  something  that 
sounded  like  'Wow!  wow!'  He  frequently  says 
it  upon  seeing  a  little  boy.  He  did  it  to-day,  his 
manner  showing  distinctly  that  he  meant  it  for  the 
boy. 

"Toots,  that  demented  infant  was  fourteen 
months  old!  Has  the  woman  no  shame?  To 
have  a  child  like  that,  and  publish  it  to  the 
world!  If  any  son  of  mine  barked  when  he  saw 
a  little  boy,  I'd  —  I'd- — I'd  take  steps.  Binks 
may  not  talk  much,  but  I'll  bet  he  can  tell  a  boy 
from  a  dog!" 

"Of  course  he  can!"  his  mother  returned  in 
dignantly.  "  He  knows  a  great  deal  more  than 
he  says.  He  won't  lie  on  the  rug  any  more,  be 
cause  he  likes  the  afghan  better,  and  he  makes 
Belle  get  it  every  time.  It's  just  the  same  as 
talking,  if  he  makes  her  understand,"  she  added 
argumentatively. 

"Just  the  same?  It's  better!"  Mr.  Wilbour 
promptly  agreed.  "  Pantomime  is  a  very  great 
art.  Don't  you  know  how  Coquelin  sits  down 
with  a  newspaper  and  makes  you  see  everything 
he's  reading  by  the  expression  of  his  face?  Mur- 

8  IOI 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

ders,  and  the  stock-market,  and  elopements,  and 
funny  stories  that  he  can't  read  to  his  wife,  and 
the  incoming  steamers?  It's  all  pantomime." 

"Tommy,  how  absurd!" 

"  Not  at  all.  A  fellow  told  me  about  it.  Said 
you  saw  every  word,  just  as  if  you  were  reading. 
If  Binks  doesn't  grow  up  to  be  a  car-conductor, 
he'll  probably  be —  Susan  Martin  Wilbour,  will 
you  listen  to  this?" 

Standing  solemnly,  as  if  to  give  his  elocutionary 
feat  greater  significance,  Mr.  Wilbour  read  the  fol 
lowing  extraordinary  statement  from  the  record 
Aunt  Emma  was  vainly  emulating: 

11  He  objected  to  a  Raff  concerto  for  violin  and 
piano,  but  tolerated  Handel's  Largo,  though  with 
a  quiver  of  his  lip.  This  was  before  he  was  four 
months  old. 

"  Now,  Toots,  you  know  this  isn't  right.  This 
is  awful.  If  Aunt  Emma  is  feeding  her  mind 
on  this  sort  of  stuff,  'twere  best  that  some  one 
reason  with  her.  No  wonder  Belle  feels  as  she 
does.  '  Though  with  a  quiver  of  his  lip !'  Do 
you  mark  that?  Oh,  my  poor  aunt!" 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  the  book  is  crazy,"  Susy 
remarked  comfortably.  "I  told  Aunt  Emma  so. 
There  is  a  part  in  it  she  read  me  about  this  child 
being  a  perfect  automaton,  and  always  sleeping 
at  the  same  time  no  matter  what  happened. 

102 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

There  was  a  band  playing  right  next  them  when 
he  took  his  nap,  and  a  man  with  a  trumpet,  but 
the  child  didn't  care.  She  didn't  like  it  because 
I  told  her  that  if  a  lion  came  roaring  after  Binks 
I'd  rather  he'd  wake  up  and  cry,  and  then  we 
could  help  him — though  I  suppose  we'd  hear  the 
lion  when  he  roared  as  soon  as  we'd  hear  Binks," 
she  added  honestly. 

"Urn,"  Mr.  Wilbour  returned  absently.  "Lis 
ten  to  this,  will  you? 

"At  this  time  a  single  voice  singing  would  not 
quiet  him,  but  two  voices  singing  in  parts  would 
invariably  have  the  desired  soothing  effect. 

"Good  thing  he  didn't  require  a  male  quartet, 
wasn't  it?  Tasty  infant,  this.  My  country! 
What  do  you  suppose  he  is  to-day?  Toots,  did 
we  ever  sing  in  parts  to  the  kiddy?" 

"Of  course  not,  Tommy!     Don't  be  silly." 

"Well,  let's.  We  can't  have  a  quartet,  be 
cause  neither  Aunt  Emma  nor  Belle  can  sing 
bass,  and  you  can't  have  a  quartet  without 
any  bass,  but —  Oh,  I  say,  Toots,  can  you  and 
Belle  and  Aunt  Em  sing  that  thing  that  three 
women  always  sing  about  'Lift  thine  eyes  to  the 
mountains'?" 

"No,  we  can't.     You  are  too  senseless." 

"Then  we'll  have  to  sing  a  duet.  What  duet 
do  we  know?" 

103 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"We  don't  know  any,"  said  Susy,  giggling  ir- 
repressibly. 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  have  to  learn  one,  that's  all. 
Do  you  know  the  one  that  ends,  'Oh,  Leono-o-ra, 
fare  thee  well'?" 

"No,  I  don't,  and  neither  do  you,"  Susy  re 
plied  promptly. 

"Oh,  we  won't  discuss  that.  Do  you  know 
that  one  where  the  dark  lady  lies  on  the  cot-bed 
and  they  sing,  'Back  to  our  wow-ountains '  ?" 

"  I  know  that  better,  but  only  the  tune.  I 
don't  believe  you  know  the  words  yourself." 

"  I  seem  to  know  more  duets  than  you,  my 
dear,"  Mr.  Wilbour  suggested  airily,  "but  here's 
another  chance.  Do  you  know  that  one  where  I 
say,  '  Tis  the  lark !'  and  you  say,  '  Tis  the  night 
ingale!'  and  then  I  say,  "Tis  the  lark!'  and  you 
say,  '  'Tis  the  nightingale !'  and  then  we  both 
wind  up  together,  'that  sings  from  yonder  tree,' 
each  one  backing  our  own  bird?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  that  one!"  Susy  cried  with 
enthusiasm,  "  a  girl  and  I  used  to  sing  it  at  school. 
She  could  sing  tenor.  And  I  say, '  W^'-ilt  thou-o\i 
be-ee  gone  ?'  and  you  say, '  / — I  mu-ust  be-ee  gone !' " 

"Precisely,"  her  husband  remarked  gravely. 
"The  very  song.  Let  us  ascend  immediately  and 
sing  it  to  Binks.  Aunt  Em  can  write  about  it 
subsequently,  and  make  the  club  sit  up." 

104 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

They  went  up-stairs  hand  in  hand,  to  find  Belle 
scarlet  with  suppressed  rage  and  Aunt  Emma 
writing  busily  in  her  little  book.  She  added  a 
final  triumphant  period  as  they  entered  the  room 
and  smiled  cheerfully  on  the  baby. 

"It  has  been  so  interesting,  Susy!"  she  cried. 
"I  did  so  wish  you  were  here  and  took  an  inter 
est  in  child-study.  As  one  of  the  authors  says, 
if  people  only  knew  the  fascination  of  seeing  a 
child's  mind  develop,  as  it  lies  on  a  blanket,  watch 
ing  things  around  it,  they  would  never  need  to 
go  to  the  matinee!" 

"Ye-es,"  Susy  answered  doubtfully,  "but  I 
think  I  prefer  the  matinee,  Aunt  Emma.  As  a 
steady  thing,  you  know." 

"  Toots  and  I  have  come  up  to  sing  in  parts  to 
Binks,"  Mr.  Wilbour  observed  abruptly,  "but 
before  we  begin,  let's  see  your  notes,  Aunt  Emma, 
will  you?" 

Miss  Wilbour  handed  him  the  red  book  with 
out  a  word.  He  opened  it  at  the  latest  date,  and 
read  aloud : 

"Martin,  eleven  months  and  thirteen  days. 
Was  lying  on  afghan  on  floor  in  perfect  silence, 
when  suddenly  dropped  the  empty  bottle  he  plays 
with.  Could  not  find  it.  Said  a  (the  sound  of  a 
in  pan)  three  times  in  dissatisfied  tone,  then 
changed  to  the  broad  a.  Clutched  the  bottle — I 


THD    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

think  accidentally — and  made  a  peculiar  sound 
expressive  of  pleasure.  Has  made  it  before.  Im 
possible  to  spell." 

"He  choked.  Wind  in  his  stummick,"  Belle 
announced,  impersonally  but  firmly. 

Aunt  Emma  bit  her  lip.  "I  have  told  you, 
Belle —  "  she  began,  but  stopped. 

For  her  niece  and  nephew,  standing  before 
their  son,  who  lay  looking  up  at  them  with  inter 
est,  suddenly  burst  forth  into  song. 

"  Wi-ilt  thou-ou  be-ee  gone  ?" 
"I — /  mu-ust  be-ee  gone!" 

they  warbled  in  unison,  and  then  Susy,  to  quote 
her  husband,  backed  the  nightingale  enthusias 
tically  throughout  one  stanza,  while  Belle  and 
Aunt  Emma  stared  in  dumb  amaze. 

"  It  is  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  dawn,  love, 
No  nightingale!" 

"Oh,  good  heavens,  that's  too  high!"  ejacu 
lated  Mr.  Wilbour  crossly.  Dropping  to  a  suit 
able  pitch,  he  proceeded  to  give  his  reasons  for 
departure,  ending  dramatically,  with  much  action, 
which  greatly  delighted  Belle: 

"7  must  be  gone  and  li-ive,  love, 

Or  stay  with  thee-ee-EE  and  die!'1 

At  this  point  Susy  became  frankly  hysterical, 
107 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP   A    BABY 

and  only  the  most  charitably  inclined  could  have 
distinguished  the  final  cadenza  through  her  gasps 
and  gurgles. 

Martin  Brinkerhoff  had  followed  the  duet  with 
growing  uneasiness,  and  as  his  mother's  confusion 
of  emotions  became  more  and  more  apparent, 
and  his  father's  gestures  more  and  more  violent, 
his  face  screwed  itself  into  unaccustomed  lines, 
and  just  as  the  end  of  the  song  declared  itself  in 
a  burst  of  laughter,  a  loud  roar  from  the  object  of 
all  these  experiments  threw  the  nurse  and  mother 
into  contrite  attitudes  on  the  afghan. 

"Susy  and  Tom,  you've  frightened  him.  Go 
out,  and  let  Belle  take  him!"  Aunt  Emma  com 
manded,  and  the  culprits  stole  out  shamefacedly, 
to  listen  at  the  door  while  Belle  intoned  to  the 
nerve-shattered  Binks  a  doleful  melody,  sacred 
to  his  sleep,  whose  words  related  the  awful  ex 
periences  of  "  Roy  Neil  and  his  fair  young  bride," 
ending  with  the  lines, 

"  And  the  ship  went  down  with  the  fair  young  bride 
That  sailed  from  Dublin  Bay!" 

"Evidently  singing  in  parts  doesn't  appeal  to 
them  all,"  Mr.  Wilbour  ventured  softly,  when 
quiet  reigned  at  length,  "we  didn't  seem  to 
soothe  him  much." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed,"  Susy  upbraided 
1 08 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

him,  "it  was  all  your  fault,  Tom  Wilbour!  Scar 
ing  my  own  baby!  What  will  Belle  think?" 

Tom  stared.  "If  that's  what  worries  you, 
Toots,  I  wouldn't  lie  awake  long,"  he  assured 
her.  "  Belle  will  lay  it  all  to  the  red  book  and 
Aunt  Emma.  She  thinks  it's  a  hoodoo,  that 
book." 

"So  do  I.  I  think  it's  mean  to  watch  every 
thing  he  does  when  he  doesn't  know  it.  Aunt 
Emma  wouldn't  like  it  herself." 

"You'll  notice  she  doesn't  get  much  show, 
however,"  Mr.  Wilbour  returned  with  a  grin. 
"  He  covers  his  tracks — develops  round  the  cor 
ner,  as  it  were.  Don't  you  suppose  he  knows 
that  foolish  book  when  he  sees  it?  Belle  told 
me  last  night  that  he  had  to  repair  to  the  laundry 
to  learn  to  sneeze  with  any — any  chic  at  all." 

"Why,  Tom,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say.  She  eloped  with  him  to  the 
laundry,  and  there  he  practised  till  he  could 
sneeze  with  that  airy  grace  that  distinguishes 
him  at  present.  She  told  me  with  triumph  that 
when  Aunt  Emma  heard  him  she  was  carried 
away  by  the  style  and  finish  of  the  thing,  and 
wrote  it  down  under  the  impression  that  she  was 
assisting  at  a  first  -  night  production.  There's 
where  Belle  got  in  one,  eh?" 

"  It's  the  most  ridiculous  thing  I  ever  heard  of," 
109 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Susy  declared.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Belle 
is  such  a  good  girl,  but  she  gets  almost  saucy  to 
Aunt  Emma  sometimes,  Tom.  Wednesday  she 
took  him  in  the  bath-room  and  sat  with  him 
there.  I  don't  dare  to  seem  to  notice  it,  because 
I  shall  have  to  reprove  Belle  if  I  do." 

"  I  gather  that  the  kid  that  tolerated  Handel's 
Largo  (though  with  a  quiver  of  his  lip)  didn't 
employ  this  kind  of  nurse?"  Tom  suggested. 

"  No,  indeed.  Aunt  Emma  read  me  what 
kind  the  nurse  ought  to  be — it's  in  the  front." 

Susy  searched  for  a  passage  in  the  blue  book 
and  read  from  it  in  the  detached  and  mechanical 
manner  she  consecrated  to  everything  but  fiction. 

"  The  aid  of  a  trained  kinder gartner  of  inspir 
ing  personality,  or  of  at  least  a  refined  and  edu 
cated  nursery  maid,  may  be  secured,  if  possible, 
very  early  in  the  life  of  a  child.  One,  however, 
should  be  selected  who  has  learned  the  value  of 
repose." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  Mr.  Wilbour  interrupted. 
"This  is  all  wrong,  Toots!  If  there's  one  thing 
Belle  hasn't  got.  .  .  .  She  carries  out  three  ab 
ductions  a  day!  The  poor  child's  early  recollec 
tions  will  be  one  continual  Eliza-on-the-floating- 
cakes-of-ice  kinetoscope.  All  we  need  is  two 
Topsys  and  a  bloodhound  to — 

"Hush,  Tom!  And  here's  the  end  of  the  sen- 
no 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

tence :  and  who  can  subordinate  method  as  a 
means  for  the  development  of  mental  and  moral 
growth.  There  —  that's  the  kind.  Do  you  see 
what  it  means?" 

"No,  thank  God,"  said  her  husband  piously, 
"  but  I  know  that  it's  just  as  well  I  don't.  There 
are  things  that  one  leads  a  happier  and  purer 
life  in  ignorance  of,  my  dear;  which  sounds  awk 
ward,  but  you  see.  In  my  besotted  ignorance  I 
thought  that  it  was  method  that  made  the  kin- 
dergartner  —  the  lack  of  it,  the  woman,  as  the 
poet  says.  I  thought  it  was  method  or  nothing 
with  'em.  If  they  subordinate  it —  But  per 
haps  that  means — " 

"Oh,  don't  discuss  it,  Tommy;  it  makes  my 
head  ache!  You'll  never  see.  Aunt  Emma 
doesn't  understand  that  part  very  well  herself. 
Only  she  thinks  Belle's  wrong." 

"Oh  yes,  I  guess  she's  wrong,  all  right,"  Mr. 
Wilbour  assented  gloomily.  "Whatever  method 
she  has,  she  doesn't  subordinate  it,  that's  one 
sure  thing.  Give  me  the  book,  Toots." 

Opening  at  random,  he  read  aloud  with  a  cold 
scorn: 

" He  has  said  'pease'  for  please  since  the  middle 
of  August,  also  '  ang  you,'  for  thank  you. 

"Is  this  the  kind  of  thing  my  misguided  rela 
tive  is  going  to  read  to  the  club?"  he  inquired. 

in 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"  Will  there  be  two  hundred  pages  of  it?  Heaven 
help  the  lad  that  inspired  this  thing!  Imagine 
him  when  he's  grown  up!  Think  of  your  friends 
fixing  you  with  their  eagle  eyes  and  reaching  up 
to  the  bookshelf  and  saying,  'Ah  yes!  Let  me 
see.  Did  you  know  that  on  September  eleventh 
you  said  "hugar"  for  sugar?'  Is  there  no  pri 
vacy,  no  sacred  solitude  of  the  soul,  no —  Oh, 
it's  disgusting!" 

It  was  somewhat  characteristic  of  Mr.  Wilbour 
that  directly  after  this  outburst  he  set  himself  to 
work  at  a  volume  of  child-study  of  his  own. 

This  was  entitled  Sherlock  at  Home;  or,  The 
Sleuth  -  Hound  of  the  Nursery,  and  was  elabo 
rated  by  him  in  his  leisure  moments  down-town, 
to  be  read  to  the  scandalized  family  after  dinner. 

"May  nineteenth. — Martin  one  year  old.  Bos 
ton  Symphony  engaged  for  purposes  of  compari 
son  with  New  York  Philharmonic,  as  heard  one 
month  ago.  B.  S.  rendition  of  Pastoral  Sym 
phony  fairly  soothing,  but  N.  Y.  P.  in  Funeral 
March  from  Gotterdammerung  distinctly  ener 
vating.  Effect  of  oboe  particularly  unfortunate. 
Plans  for  the  Meistersinger  quintet  next  week  in 
event  of  de  Reszke's  recovery. 

"  May  twenty-third. — Martin  one  year  and  four 
days  old.  Said  'ngrmph'  and  'mga'  distinctly. 
Evidently  meant  that  he  preferred  his  father  in 

112 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

a  dull  green  tie  to  a  black  with  brown  spots,  by 
first  ejaculation ;  second  more  doubtful,  but  from 
gestures  I  infer  that  he  was  commenting,  in  his 
unformed,  baby  way,  on  the  inscrutable  mys 
teries,  as  they  must  appear  to  him,  of  Pasteuri 
zation." 

"You  may  laugh  if  you  like,  Tom,"  Aunt 
Emma  complained,  "but  if  every  mother  in  the 
country  took  such  notes,  it  would  have  a  distinct 
effect  on  science." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  for  a  moment,  my  dear  aunt 
— not  for  a  moment.  If  ever  science  conies  in 
competition  with  our  notes,"  Mr.  Wilbour  ex 
claimed  enthusiastically,  "I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  Aunt  Emma,  it  '11  be  down  and  out  the 
first  round!" 


WHICH  CONTINUES  TO  DEAL  WITH  CHILD-STUDY 
AT    HOME 

3OM  dear,  if  Binks  should  ask  you 
:what  a  gas  was — " 

"In  heaven's  name,  Toots,  what 
you  mean?" 

Mr.  Wilbour  dropped  his  tooth 
brush  hastily,  and  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
he  still  retained  the  blue  tin  of  powder  in  his 
hand,  strode  out  of  the  bath-room. 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  If  Binks  should  ask  us 
— oh,  not  to-day,  you  silly,  but  later  on — what 
a  gas  was,  what  would  you  say?" 

It  was  Susy's  habit,  when  struck  suddenly  by 
a  new  idea,  to  stop  short  in  anything  she  might 
be  doing  and  revolve  the  new  matter  as  thorough 
ly  as  possible — usually  in  the  precise  attitude  in 
which  it  had  first  occurred  to  her.  At  this  mo 
ment  she  stood  before  the  mirror,  staring  absently 
into  it,  her  hair  gathered  into  a  preparatory  hand 
ful  at  the  top  of  her  head. 

114 


HER  HAIR  GATHERED  INTO  A  PREPARATORY 
HANDFUL   AT   THE   TOP    OF    HER   HEAD" 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"You  look  like  an  illustration  in  the  adver 
tisement  part  of  a  magazine,"  her  husband  ob 
served  appreciatively — "'The  first  gray  hair! 
How  can  she  prevent  it?  By  using — '" 

"Oh,  Tommy!  Now  I've  got  to  get  it  all  up 
again! .  .  .  How  silly!  Of  course  I  must.  I  can't 
go  around  this  way.  Do  you  really  think  it's 
prettier?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  about  it — I  know," 
Mr.  Wilbour  returned  decidedly.  "I  fell  in  love 
with  the  seven  What-do-you-call-'em  Sisters  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  and  I  never  got  over  it.  Only 
they  never  knew  anything  about  it,"  he  added 
pensively,  "and  so  nothing  came  of  it.  There 
was  one  that  had  two  yards.  It  went  around 
three  sides  of  the  bottle,  and— 

"It's  a  pity  you  couldn't  have  married  her," 
his  wife  commented,  "then  you  could  have  trav 
elled  about  and  seen  more  of  the  world." 

"But  there  was  one  difficulty  in  the  way,"  he 
confided,  pulling  her  hair  down  over  her  ears  and 
regarding  the  resulting  demure  effect  critically 
in  the  glass.  "With  my  modest,  not  to  say  re 
tiring,  disposition,  how  could  I  have  endured  sit 
ting  in  the  windows  of  the  drug-stores  where  she 
exhibited?  I  couldn't  have  kept  away,  and  yet 
I  should  have  fainted  if  compelled— 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Susy?" 
116 


AND    REGARDING    THE    RESULTING    DEMURE 
EFFECT   CRITICALLY    IN    THE   GLASS" 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

At  the  sound  of  Aunt  Emma's  voice  they 
started  guiltily  apart.  Susy  began  twisting  up 
her  hair,  blushing  furiously,  and  Tom,  as  if  the 
Montagues  and  Capulets  were  clashing  in  the  hall, 
fled  to  his  room,  but  too  late. 

For  an  emphatic  exclamation  from  Aunt  Emma 
drew  their  eyes  to  the  floor,  where  the  blue 
tin  of  tooth-powder  rolled  placidly  along  in  its 
disgusted  owner's  wake,  spilling  a  white  and 
odorous  trail  in  its  telltale  course.  From  Susy 
to  her  husband  the  white  line  curved,  and  from 
one  to  the  other  Aunt  Emma's  glance  leaped 
swiftly. 

"  What  are  you  doing?"  she  demanded.  "  What 
is  that  on  the  floor?  Sugar?"  For  the  tin  had 
concealed  itself  for  the  moment  behind  its  mas 
ter's  shoes. 

"What  is  it?"  Tom  repeated  vaguely.  "I— 
I'll  see."  He  picked  up  the  blue  object  and  ex 
amined  it  critically.  "Ah,  yes!  it  is  Dr.  Brown's 
perfect  tooth-powder.  At  least  that's  what  it 
says  on  the  box,"  he  added.  "Did  you  want  it 
for  anything,  Aunt  Emma?" 

Between  Susy's  convulsed  laughter  and  her 
nephew's  impressive  politeness  Aunt  Emma's 
curiosity  grew  apace. 

"Of  course  it  is  no  affair  of  mine,  Tom  and 
Susy,  if  you  choose  to  cover  the  floor  with  tooth- 

118 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF    A    BABY 

powder,"  she  began,   "but  Susy  was  doing  her 
hair  fully  fifteen  minutes  ago,  and — " 

"I  know,  Aunt  Emma,  and  it's  all  done  now. 
You  see,  what  stopped  me  was  thinking  about 
what  I  should  do  when  the  baby  began  to  ask 
questions  like  that  one  about  gas,  and  so  I  called 
Tommy  in,  and  he — he — well,  you  know  how 
silly  Tommy  can  be,  Aunt  Emma!" 

"You  don't  mean  that  Martin  has — " 

"No,"  Susy  admitted  hastily,  "he  hasn't  yet, 
but  when  he  does  talk,  and  asks  those  dreadful 
questions  like  that  boy  in  the  book — 

"In  my  book,"  Tom  inquired,  "or  Aunt  Em's, 
or  the  woman's?" 

"The  woman's.  He  asked  his  mother  what 
gas  was,  and  she  wasn't  able — 

"What?  Wasn't  able?  Come,  come,  Toots, 
this  is  ridiculous.  Why  I,  even  I,  can  tell  what 
gas  is,  and  what  am  I  beside  that  woman?" 

"Well,  what  would  you  say?" 

"  Why,  gas  is — well,  of  course  you  can't  give  a 
perfectly  clear  idea— 

"Aha!  I  knew  you  couldn't — I  knew  it!"  Susy 
cried  triumphantly. 

"  If  you  will  wait  a  moment,"  her  husband  con 
tinued  with  dignity,  "  till  I  have  finished  my  sen 
tence,  you  will  be  showing  better  manners,  and 
incidentally,  you'll  hear  what  I  have  to  say. 

1 20 


"Gas — that  is,  for  all  practical  working  pur 
poses,  for  of  course  you  wouldn't  expect  to  ex 
plain  to  a  child — " 

"Ah,  but  that's  just  it!"  Susy  interrupted  ea 
gerly,  "that's  just  the  point!  You  mustn't  say 
anything  that  won't  be  perfectly  true  when  he's 
grown  up,  you  see.  It's  learning  two  sets  of 
things  that  makes  a  child  distrust  you.  When 
they  grow  up  they  find  out  that  what  you  said 
wasn't  so,  and  so  you  must  always  tell  the  exact 
truth.  The  ve-ry  ex-act  truth.  Like  Santa  Glaus 
and  finding  babies  in  cabbages,  you  know." 

"Susy!" 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it,  Aunt  Emma.  I  do 
think  that's  so." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Susy  Wilbour,  that 
if  Martin  were  to  ask  you — ' 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Aunt  Emma,  I  don't  know! 
That's  what  I'm  making  up  my  mind  about." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  wouldn't  lie  awake 
long  about  that  just  now,"  suggested  Mr.  Wilbour 
judicially.  "  He  hasn't  been  annoying  you  much 
on  that  subject  lately,  has  he?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Very  well.  Now  in  the  matter  of  gas,  while 
I'm  not  prepared  to  give  a  stereopticon  lecture 
on  the  subject,  as  I  said,  at  the  same  time  there 
are  a  few  simple  phrases  which,  adjusted  ac- 

121 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

cording  to  age,  and  presented  in  an  attractive, 
unassuming  Way,  would  make  any  child  not  only 
comprehend,  but,  as  Isaac  Newton  or  Galileo  or 
Edison  said — " 

"Tommy,  I  don't  believe  you  have  any  idea 
what  you're  talking  about!  I  don't  believe  you 
know  any  more  about  what  a  gas  is  than  I 
do!" 

"Oh,  you  don't!  Well  then,  I'll  tell  you.  A 
gas  is  something  you  mustn't  blow  out  in  a  hotel! 
Pooh!" 

The  scientist  disappeared  swiftly  into  his  room, 
Susy  giggled,  and  Aunt  Emma  endeavored  to  col 
lect  the  tooth-powder  from  the  floor  without 
sneezing. 

The  conversation  of  the  morning  had  evidently 
impressed  Mr.  Wilbour,  for  that  evening  he  pro 
duced  a  new  instalment  of  Sherlock  at  Home  and 
offered  to  read  it  to  his  disapproving  but  uncon 
querably  curious  family. 

It  was  his  habit,  on  such  occasions,  politely  to 
offer  Aunt  Emma  the  first  opportunity  of  exploit 
ing  her  own  observations  of  his  son's  progress, 
and  afterwards  to  follow  her  with  a  becoming 
modesty;  when  she  had  no  material  to  offer,  as 
was  often  the  case,  her  nephew  would  smile  kind 
ly  at  her,  implying  that  she  was  not  to  be  too  hard 
ly  censured  for  her  manifest  defeat  at  the  hands 

122 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

of  the  tireless  Belle,  and  proceed  to  declaim  from 
his  own  notes. 

This  order  of  things  prevailed  on  the  night  in 
question :  Martin  had  been  kept  out  -  of  -  doors 
nearly  all  day,  and  the  red  book  had  slumbered 
on  Aunt  Emma's  work-table. 

"My  report  to-night,"  Tom  began,  in  a  busi 
ness-like  tone,  "is  based  on  data  given  by  my 
esteemed  contemporary  whose  studies  in  child 
growth  and  development  first  induced  me  to  take 
up  this  work  on  my  own  account.  I  quote  the 
following  sentence:  He  obeys  us  at  all  times,  but 
one  must  give  him  time  to  adjust  himself  to  what 
he  is  to  do.  .  .  . 

"  I  want  to  make  a  digression  here,  Aunt  Emma, 
and  suggest  that  if  you  had  given  me  time  to 
adjust  myself  after  you'd  informed  me  what  I  was 
to  do,  I  might  have  been  a  different  man.  But, 
no ;  I  had  to  get  busy  and  fall  in  with  your  ideas 
tout  de  suite,  as  it  were.  So  I  never  got  a  chance 
to  go  on  with  what  I  was  doing.  It  saved  time, 
doubtless,  but  what  a  lot  of  entertainment  I 
missed!  Nobody  hurried  this  young  man,  and  if 
you  do  the  right  thing  by  him,  nobody  will  hurry 
Binks.  As  follows: 

"April  sixteenth.  —  Martin  observed  box  of 
matches  and  tried  to  reach  it;  showed  signs  of 
temper  on  failing  to  do  so.  Wishing  to  avoid  any 

123 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

such  state  of  mind  in  him,  we  gave  him  the  box 
immediately,  only  explaining  that  he  was  not  to 
light  them,  as  that  might  produce  disastrous  re 
sults.  It  must  be  that  he  failed  to  understand 
the  explanation,  for  he  began  to  scratch  them 
on  the  box  directly.  We  decided  that,  rather 
than  take  the  box  from  him  by  force  while  he 
was  adjusting  himself  (which  procedure  inevi 
tably  reduces  a  child  to  the  class  of  animals  or 
criminals,  and  why,  indeed,  should  we,  simply 
because  we  are  the  stronger,  compel  a  child  to  do 
as  we  say?)  we  would  wait  till  he  was  old  enough 
to  understand  the  consequences  of  his  actions,  and 
desist  on  a  perfectly  reasonable  basis. 

"  In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  however,  the 
child's  clothes  were  observed  to  be  in  flames;  it 
was  necessary  to  extinguish  them,  after  he  had 
been  slightly  burned  in  order  to  impress  upon  him 
the  natural  results  of  carelessness  in  this  direction, 
and  by  the  time  this  had  been  satisfactorily  ac 
complished,  the  room  was  on  fire  beyond  control. 
On  account  of  our  lingering  to  point  out  to  him  the 
practical  disadvantages  of  his  actions,  the  blaze 
extended  too  widely  for  the  fire  company's  efforts, 
and  the  house  burned  to  the  ground.  We  are 
now  living  in  rooms  across  the  street,  so  that 
when  he  is  able  to  realize  perfectly  what  he  has 
done,  the  blackened  ruins  will  impress  upon  his 

124 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

mind,  without  any  degrading  corporal  punish 
ment,  the  consequences  of  disobedience." 

"Tom  Wilbour,  you  are  really  too  bad!  How 
can  you  write  about  such  a  dreadful  thing,  any 
way?"  Aunt  Emma  complained.  "  I'm  surprised 
that  you  can  laugh  at  it,  Susy." 

"I'm  not  laughing  at  it,  Aunt  Emma,"  Susy 
explained,  "I'm  laughing  at  the  funny  way  Tom 
my  reads  it — and  then,  you  must  admit,  Aunt 
Emma,  it  sounds  just  like  that  book,  only  sillier 
of  course.  Except  for  that,  you  could  hardly 
tell." 

"  Except  for  that !"  Tom  cried  bitterly.  "  Only 
sillier !  That  shows  what  you  really  know  about 
the  book  your  old  club  is  swearing  by!  As  if  I 
could  write  anything  sillier  if  I  lay  awake  nights ! 
Listen  to  this,"  and  he  deftly  drew  from  under 
the  cushion  of  the  Morris  chair  the  book  Aunt 
Emma  had  fondly  hoped  to  sequestrate  there. 
At  her  involuntary  gasp  of  surprise  he  smiled 
triumphantly,  but  made  no  further  comment  on 
her  failure  to  conceal  the  object  of  his  satire. 

"/  had  a  little  trouble  to  teach  him  not  to  touch 
things  in  the  dining-room,  and  for  a  time  we  seri 
ously  considered  placing  things  out  of  his  reach,  but 
eventually  concluded  it  would  be  better  to  stand 
some  loss  of  valued  articles,  if  necessary,  than  lose 
an  opportunity  of  showing  him  in  every  direction 

125 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

of  his  life  that  he  must  learn  to  respect  the  rights 
of  others.  The  servants  and  I,  therefore,  kept  fol 
lowing  him  up,  saying,  'No,  no!'  whenever  he 
touched  anything,  and  offered  some  pleasant  di 
version  each  time  as  the  next  thing  for  him  to  do 
when  we  led  him  away.  It  was  really  very  amus 
ing. 

"There!  do  you  hear  that?  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  ladies,  a  few  weeks  of  that  sort  of  thing 
and  you  would  'eventually  stand  the  loss  of  one 
valued  article ' — the  mind  of  Thomas  R.  Wilbour ! 
You  would  be  obliged  to  seek  him  in  his  padded 
cell.  'It  was  really  very  amusing '—good  heav 
ens!  If  that  represents  amusement  to  any  hu 
man  soul,  what  must  its  sorrows  be?  I  ask  you 
that!" 

"Well,"  remarked  Susy  the  practical,  "you 
needn't  bother,  Tommy,  because  nobody's  going 
to  ask  you  to  walk  around  after  Binks ;  he  doesn't 
pick  up  things  yet." 

And  indeed  Martin  Brinkerhoff  seemed  little 
likely  to  require  the  services  of  any  such  rear 
guard  ;  at  present  he  wanted  but  little  here  below 
and  wanted  that  little  on  the  floor.  He  was  not 
aspiring,  and  clearly  reasoned  that  the  baby  that 
was  down  need  fear  no  fall,  for  he  kept  his  ear  to 
the  ground,  to  use  his  father's  phrase,  and  lay 
placidly  for  hours  on  his  striped  afghan,  regard- 

126 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

ing  such  objects  as  naturally  fell  within  his  range 
of  vision. 

On  such  occasions,  except  for  the  traditional 
necessity  of  a  nurse,  he  might  safely  have  been 
trusted  to  the  care  of  one  of  the  wax  ladies  in 
the  shop  windows,  as  his  father  declared,  for  he 
never  rolled  off  the  confines  of  the  afghan,  and 
lifted  his  voice  only  at  rare  intervals  and  in  the 
most  legitimate  interests.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  mat 
ter  of  definite  grievance  to  Belle  that  the  only 
situations  in  which  her  personality  per  se  appeared 
necessary  to  her  charge  were  those  in  which,  as 
a  self-appointed  rescuer,  she  bore  him  from  the 
scenes  of  Aunt  Emma's  psychological  research  at 
his  expense.  On  her  days  of  absence  her  place, 
so  far  as  the  object  of  her  care  was  concerned, 
seemed  equally  well  filled  by  the  cook  or  the  maid. 
Not  that  solitude  appealed  to  Martin,  however. 
Far  from  preferring  to  roll  in  loneliness,  he  con 
sidered,  evidently,  that  it  was  utterly  beneath 
his  dignity  to  do  so,  for  if  deserted  for  a  moment 
he  was  accustomed  to  leave  the  afghan  and  start 
on  a  tottering  expedition  across  the  room,  with  the 
very  apparent  intention  of  capturing  the  careless 
person  who  had  so  far  forgotten  the  etiquette  of 
the  situation  as  to  leave  him  unattended.  To 
meet  his  views  properly,  some  one  must  occupy 
that  low  red  chair. 

127 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

In  some  subtle  way  he  made  perfectly  clear  to 
his  relatives  both  his  personal  indifference  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  servitor  and  his  insistence  on 
chaperonage  in  the  abstract ;  so  that  while  no  one 
was  allowed  to  flatter  herself  on  the  ground  of 
any  preference  for  her  society,  every  one  was  deep 
ly  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  strict  and  con 
tinuous  attendance  on  the  striped  afghan. 

This  result  delighted  Mr.  Wilbour  beyond 
words. 

"You  see,  he  knows,"  he  explained,  "that  boy 
knows.  Will  he  have  to  grow  gray  over  the  eti 
quette  columns?  Will  he  have  to  ask  the  ladies' 
magazines  which  fork?  Will  he  be  sending 
stamped  and  addressed  envelopes  to  get  early  in 
formation  as  to  home  weddings,  and  who  pays 
the  clergyman?  Not  much.  I'll  bet  you  he 
knows  now  that  the  groom  wears  pearl-gray  trou 
sers  and  a  black  frock-coat,  and  that  a  simple 
breakfast  consists  of  sandwiches,  salads,  and  ices." 

"Tommy,  you  are  the  very  silliest  man  I  ever 
saw!" 

"Not  at  all.  He  is  probably  a  duke  in  dis 
guise,  that  child — all  servants  look  alike  to  him! 
Some  day  he  will  probably  be  found  by  Belle 
kissing  the  Sears  baby  behind  the  sofa,  and  ten 
to  one,  when  taxed  with  it,  he'll  say, '  Ce  n'est  qu'un 
valet!1  That's  the  kind  he  is — noblesse  oblige!" 

128 


w  y, 

CO     ° 

o  a 

T)     «J 

""*.  tfl 
-  w 

"  r 
r 
B 

W 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"If  you  say  all  the  French  you  know  to-day, 
Tommy,  you  won't  have  any  left  for  the  summer," 
his  wife  observed  neatly,  "and  as  for  Binks's  kiss 
ing  Dot  Sears,  I  hope  he  won't  pick  out  such  a 
little  prig  as  that  child's  getting  to  be!  Besides, 
Minnie  doesn't  let  her  kiss  anybody.  If  people 
start  to,  she  says,  '  Please  kiss  my  cheek,  if  you 
don't  mind!'  It's  germs,"  she  added  scornfully. 

"Ah,"  her  husband  commented,  "it's  certain 
ly  hard  on  Dorothy.  But  you  must  remember, 
Toots,  that  the  girl  is  young  yet.  You  know  you 
used  to  say  you  weren't  fond  of— 

"Tom!" 

"And  you  didn't  see  why  people  should  want 
to,  but  you — " 

"Tommy  Wilbour,  that's  enough!" 

" — learned,"  Mr.  Wilbour  concluded  calmly, 
"  and  maybe  Dorothy  will,  in  spite  of  her  mother's 
prejudices.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  if  kissing  invites 
germs,  a  large  proportion  of  us  are  gratifyingly 
germ-proof!  For  instance,  you  and  I— 

"  Here  comes  Aunt  Emma,  Tom.  Sit  down. 
What  did  you  say,  Aunt  Emma?" 

"  I  was  wondering  if  Martin  doesn't  really  care 
for  Belle  at  all,  Susy?  It  seems  so  strange. 
Here  she's  been  gone  two  days,  and  he  doesn't 
seem  to  miss  her  the  least  bit.  And  Maggie 
doesn't  pretend  to  be  specially  fond  of  children, 

130 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

either,  though  she's  perfectly  conscientious  about 
helping  with  him.  Everybody  in  the  club  says 
just  the  opposite  in  all  their  reports  —  all  the 
children  love  their  nurses  so.  Mrs.  Upton  asked 
me  this  week  if  I  thought  Martin  was  likely  to 
develop  emotionally  at  all!  Think  of  that!  I 
felt  dreadfully,  but  what  could  I  say?" 

"Why,  Aunt  Emma  Wilbour,  the  idea!"  Susy 
grew  red  with  indignation,  while  Tom  shook  with 
silent  laughter.  "  How  impertinent  of  her!  How 
unbearable!  What  business  is  it  of  hers,  any 
way?  He  isn't  her  baby,  is  he?  I  consider  it 
extremely— 

"  My  dear  Toots,  you  are  hopelessly  behind  the 
times!  This  is  science,  and  science  cannot  be 
impertinent.  It  looks  a  little  prying,  to  be  sure, 
but  once  you  call  it  scientific  you  can  talk  about 
a  lot  of  things,  my  dear,  that  we  didn't  use  to 
mention.  Isn't  that  so,  Aunt  Em?" 

"  It  does  seem  so,  Tom,"  the  good  lady  admit 
ted  seriously.  "  Now,  young  Mrs.  Meade  told 
some  of  her — er — most  sacred  thoughts,  before 
she — before  her — and  .  .  .  Well,  I  must  say  I 
thought  it  was  odd.  If  I  had  thought  such 
things,  I  should  have  kept  them  to  myself,  I 
think." 

"What  things,  Aunt  Emma?  Do  tell  us,"  her 
nephew  begged,  an  unholy  curiosity  in  his  eye. 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

"I'll  never  breathe  a  word,  I  swear!  I  used  to 
know  Flossie  Meade  pretty  well  when  she  was  F. 
Alison  Saunders,  and  I'd  love  to  know— 

"Be  still,  Tom.     Of  course  I  sha'n't  tell  you." 

"But  why  not?  I'm  making  a  book!  It's  all 
right  to  tell  me.  People  tell  Tolstoy  everything, 
and  he  puts  it  in  a  book.  Why  won't  you  tell 
me?  ll  might  be  as  great  as  Tolstoy  if  people 
would  come  and  tell  me  things!  What  were 
Flossie '  s  er — thoughts  ? ' ' 

"  Be  still,  Tom.  You  see,  Susy,  that  boy  in  the 
book — I  believe  he  is  supposed  to  be  normal — 

"Oh,  you  do — ?  you  do?  Well,  here's  where 
we  differ,  Aunt  Emma,  once  and  forever.  Any 
child  that  tolerates  Handel,  though  with  a  quiver 
of  the  lip,  at  four  months,  is  out  of  any  class 
directly.  He  trots  by  himself,  if  you  want  my 
views." 

"As  I  was  saying,  Susy,  that  child  felt  so  sen 
sitive  to  servants.  He  seems  to  have  been  as 
unusual  in  one  direction  as  Martin  is  in  the  other." 

"Thank  heaven!"  Martin's  father  interpolated 
hastily.  "Anything  that  separates  Binks  from 
that  kid  is  so  much  to  the  good!  And  Binks  is 
safe  to  do  it,  too.  Just  mention  something  that 
poor  martyr  to  science  patronizes,  and  you'll  find 
my  thoughtful  son  investing  in  the  opposition 
stock!" 

132 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP    A    BABY 

"  Here  is  what  I  mean,"  and  Miss  Wilbour  pro 
duced  the  club's  text-book  and  found  a  turned- 
down  leaf: 

"A  curious  thing  about  the  child  shows  clearly 
all  through  the  record,  that  he  knew  instantly,  when- 
meeting  persons,  whether  they  liked  him  or  not.  Ser 
vants  could  not  be  kept  with  comfort  to  the  little  fel 
low  when  he  had  shown  that  he  thought  they  didn't 
like  him,  and  it  was  always  found  advisable,  when 
engaging  a  servant  in  any  capacity,  to  first  have 
him  see  the  person,  and  watch  his  manner  before 
engaging  them.  In  this  way  some  exceptionally 
faithful  servants  were  secured." 

' '  The  deuce  they  were !  Kind  of  a  little  in 
telligence  bureau,  wasn't  he?"  Mr.  Wilbour 
shook  his  head  disconsolately.  "My  country! 
And  that's  what  you  want  my  son  and  heir  to  be, 
Aunt  Emma?  Go  to!  I'll  show  you." 

And  the  next  edition  of  the  Nursery  Sleuth- 
Hound  wras  not  long  in  appearing. 

"  May  first. — Martin  has  again  exercised  his  ex 
traordinary  instinct  for  detecting  dislike  in  the  ser 
vants.  The  cook  put  strychnine  in  his  broth  last 
week  and  endeavored  to  spank  him  with  a  large 
wooden  spoon,  since  when  he  has  taken  a  violent 
aversion  to  her,  and  refuses  to  be  reasoned  with 
on  the  subject.  He  evidently  thinks  she  dislikes 
him,  though  why,  we  cannot  imagine.  Yester- 

133 


OS 

a  - 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

day  his  nurse  omitted  to  put  any  cold  water  in 
his  bath-tub,  and  as  the  water  was  nearly  boiling 
he  was  inconvenienced.  Since  then  he  has  ob 
jected  to  her  bathing  him,  though  we  have  tried 
to  convince  him  that  it  was  probably  accidental. 
"May  fourth. — It  has  been  necessary  to  get  a 
new  butler.  Martin's  success  with  the  last  foot 
man  was  so  marked  that  we  have  trusted  this 
matter  entirely  to  him.  Personally  we  favored 
the  third  applicant,  an  intelligent  Irishman,  but 
his  references  must  have  been  unsatisfactory,  as 
in  the  ultimate  issue  he  was  sent  away.  We 
think  Martin  would  have  engaged  the  fifth,  an 
apparently  capable  Swede,  but  he  was  engaged 
with  his  bottle  at  the  time  of  the  interview,  and 
happening  to  lose  it  during  his  inspection  of  the 
man,  he  grew  a  little  pettish  and  screamed  loud 
ly.  The  man,  remarking  impudently  that  he  was 
no  nurse,  objected  to  picking  up  the  bottle,  and 
that  of  course  prejudiced  the  boy  against  him. 
It  is  quite  wonderful  how  the  little  fellow  detects 
incapacity.  It  seems  practically  impossible  to 
deceive  him.  The  neighbors  are  anxious  to  syn 
dicate  him  and  establish  a  local  branch  of  the 
central  intelligence  office,  but  we  have  decided 
that  such  a  proceeding  would  probably  force  his 
mental  growth  too  rapidly,  and  the  effort  has 
been  to  keep  him  in  every  way  normal  and  evenly 

135 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

developed,  restraining,  if  necessary,  rather  than 
urging." 

On  the  conclusion  of  this  entry,  Mr.  Wilbour 
drew  a  long,  satisfied  breath. 

"There,  how's  that?"  he  inquired  proudly. 


1     YESTERDAY   HIS   NURSE   OMITTED   TO   PUT  ANY  COLD  WATER 
IN   HIS   BATH-TUB  '  ' 

"  But — but  part  of  that's  in  the  book,  isn't  it, 
Tommy?"  his  wife  asked  doubtfully. 

"You  may  well  think  so,  Toots,"  he  returned 
136 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

with  gravity.  "I  have  caught  the  spirit  so  per 
fectly  that  any  one  might  well  be  pardoned — 

"I  don't  know  but  that's  so!"  Aunt  Emma 
suddenly  interrupted  with  decision,  to  her  neph 
ew's  incredulous  glee.  "If  anybody  as  flighty  as 
you,  Tom  Wilbour,  can  write  a  thing  like  that, 
and  make  it  sound  so — so — 

"Reasonable?"  he  suggested  helpfully. 

"No!" 

"Idiotic?"  he  ventured. 

"Oh,  go  away!" 

She  stared  at  him  confusedly,  more  than  one 
emotion  struggling  in  her  face. 

"But  some  of  those  things  are  scientific!"  she 
cried  obstinately,  "they  are!" 

"  Of  course  they  are,"  he  assured  her  delighted 
ly,  "and  so  am  I!  It's  a  scientific  age,  Aunt 
Emma.  And  I'm  out  for  science  every  day  and 
all  the  time !  Now  will  you  tell  me  Flossie's  er — 
thoughts?" 


WHICH  DEALS  WITH  SPONTANEOUS  EJACULATIONS 


^wwra        -"  say  <papa'?   Come'  be.a 

t-^  4        /r^fiti^00^  baby  and  say  'papa'!      Will 
JV/I  J&  he  ?      Please,    baby !      Pa  -  pa  -  pa ! 

nn  <s>  <s?  nn  Please  ?    P^a5^-r ' 

g^^)^?g^      Susy's     lips    pursed    deliciously, 

her  eyes,  round  and  brown,  fastened  hypnoti 
cally  on  her  son's,  her  hands  clasped  in  his  small 
and  uncertain  lap.  One  would  have  thought  a 
table  or  a  chair  must  burst  into  speech  at  such  a 
charming  appeal,  but  flesh  and  blood  remained 
obstinately  mute. 

"  Oh,  Martin  dear,  why  don't  you  talk?  Aren't 
you  going  to,  ever?  Watch  me,  now,  and  do 
it,  please,  Binks!  Pa -pa -pa!  It's  so  easy  to 
say!" 

Martin  smiled  wisely,  and  sucked  in  his  moist, 
pink  lips.  Susy  caught  her  breath.  Would  he? 
She  grasped  his  fat  little  legs  nervously  and  shook 

138 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

him  gently,   as  if  to  precipitate  the  impending 

crisis. 

i 

Slowly  his  cheeks  filled  and  filled  before  her; 
his  eyes  began  to  disappear,  his  nose  became  a 
speck.  It  was  as  if  the  pent-up  speech  within 
him  must  surely  burst  out  in  a  flood  of  oratory, 
so  pretentious  were  the  preparations.  In  sym 
pathy  with  these  facial  contortions  his  anxious 
mother's  countenance  assumed  an  expression  so 
similar  as  to  cause  her  husband  to  experience  a 
little  alarm. 

"  Hurry  it  up,  Toots,  hurry  it  up!"  he  besought 
her.  "If  it  must  happen,  let  us  hear  it  now! 
You  don't  know  how  queer  you  look,  really. 
Why  don't  you  slap  each  other's  backs?" 

And  still  the  two  confronted  each  other,  Mar 
tin  swelling  visibly  with  each  second,  Susy  un 
consciously  imitating  him.  Mr.  Wilbour  stared 
at  them,  fascinated. 

"It  can't  last  long,"  he  murmured.  "Hold 
steady!  There!" 

For  a  sort  of  internal  grunt  from  his  son  an 
nounced  the  approaching  climax;  his  mouth  took 
on  every  semblance  of  the  letter  p.  His  father's 
lips  instinctively  shaped  themselves  to  that  ex 
plosive  consonant,  and  for  one  last  second  the 
three  sat  spellbound,  pouting  into  space. 

Then  as  Susy  enthusiastically  chirped  out  her 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

model  cry  and  even  Mr.  Wilbour  apologetically 
muttered  "pa-pa,"  Martin  slowly  and  noiselessly 
projected  from  his  bunched  and  rosy  mouth  a 
small  but  unmistakable  bubble.  It  grew  and 
grew  with  all  the  effect  of  some  uncanny  con 
jurer's  trick :  it  seemed  impossible  that  from  such 
a  tiny  source  such  a  sphere  should  rise.  Even  as 
he  blew  it,  he  rolled  his  eyes  from  one  of  his  par 
ents  to  the  other,  as  if  to  command  their  utmost 
attention  and  appreciation,  and  when  at  the  su 
preme  moment  it  collapsed  softly,  and  his  cheeks 
assumed  their  normal  proportions,  he  met  their 
disappointed  sighs  with  a  reassuring  smile,  that 
said  more  plainly  than  words,  "There,  how  many 
children  of  my  age  could  have  done  that?" 

For  a  moment  the  ruse  succeeded:  they  ex 
perienced  a  certain  foolish  pride  in  this  idiotic 
achievement;  but  Mr.  Wilbour  recovered  imme 
diately  and  addressed  his  son  severely. 

"All  right,  Binks,  all  right!  If  that's  the  best 
you  can  do,  say  no  more.  Only,  if  you  think 
this  soap-bubble  act  is  going  to  take  the  place  of 
the  ordinary  drawing-room  patter,  you're  doom 
ed  to  a  terrible  awakening!  People  aren't  ac 
customed  to  it,  my  dear  boy,  and  they  won't 
stand  it.  I  tell  you  that,  straight !  It  may  hold 
the  attention  through  its  undeniable  novelty,  for 
a  little,  but  it  won't  do — it  won't  do!" 

140 


THC    MEMOIRS    OT    A    BABY 

Susy  kissed  his  fat,  creased  hands  despairingly. 

"Oh,  Martin,  how  could  you?"  she  upbraided 
him.  "And  I  thought  you  were  really  going  to, 
this  time!  Here  you  are  fifteen  months  old — no, 
you're  fifteen  and  three  weeks  —  and  you  don't 
talk  any  more  than  as  if  you  were  fifteen  weeks!" 

"Or  fifteen  minutes,"  Tom  answered  gloomily. 

Susy  turned  on  him  instantly.  "Why,  Tom 
Wilbour,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed!  You,  your 
self,  never  said  a  word  till  you  were  two — not  one ! 
Aunt  Emma  often  says  so.  And  they  all  thought 
it  was  dreadful,  too." 

"Well  and  good,"  Mr.  Wilbour  responded  tran 
quilly,  "but  I  never  mistook  myself  for  a  bubble- 
party,  anyhow!  I  never  got  everybody  wrought 
up  to  nervous  prostration  and  then  insulted  'em 
like  that.  And  when  I  did  speak — !" 

His  tone  implied  enormous  possibilities.  Mrs. 
Wilbour  sniffed. 

"  Oh  yes,  Tommy,  we  all  know  how  grand  it 
was  when  you  did  speak!  We  know  what  you 
said,  too.  It  was — 

"  It's  not  necessary,  my  dear  girl,  to  go  into 
details;  suffice  it  to  say,  as  they  say  in  novels, 
that  I  spoke." 

"Aunt  Emma,  what  was  it  that  Tommy  said 
when  he  first  spoke?"  Susy  pursued  relentlessly, 
as  Miss  Wilbour  passed  the  door. 

141 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Why,  he  said  'choo-choo,'  my  dear,  and 
after  that,  '  Na-na '  -  -  that  was  for  me  —  and 
then—" 

"  Dear  me,  Aunt  Emma,  can't  I  get  you  a  chair 
or  a  book  or — or  something?"  her  nephew  inter 
rupted  hastily. 

"Why,  no,  thank  you,  Tom,  I'm  just  on  my 
way  to  the  kitchen.  After  that  he  said  '  Moppy ' 
—that  was  for  Aunt  Martha — and  then  I'm  not 
quite  sure— 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Aunt  Em;  you  needn't 
bother.  As  I  say,  Toots,  when  a  boy  gets  you  all 
strung  up  so  that  you  expect  him  to  spout,  '  Live 
or  die,  sink  or  swim,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my 
heart  and  my  hand  to  this  vote !'  and  then  he  blows 
a  silly  bubble  and  quits,  you  naturally  feel— 

"You  naturally  feel  that  he  ought  to  say 
'Moppy'!" 

Mrs.  Wilbour  rarely  essayed  satire,  but  its  very 
rarity  lent  it  a  distinct  force,  and  her  husband 
wilted  under  it. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  returned  feebly, 
"nothing  of  the  sort.  I  don't  believe  I  said  it, 
anyway.  I — " 

"Oh,  you  don't?  Well,  I  do.  You  won't  hear 
Binks  saying  anything  like  that.  When  he  does 
talk—" 

"He  will  lisp  in  numbers,  without  any  doubt," 
142 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

his  father  assented  eagerly.  "  My  dear,  I  am  sure 
of  it.  Probably  even  now  he  has  the  thing  all 
planned,  and  it  will  pour  out  in  one  triumphant 
burst.  And,  anyhow,  they  oughtn't  to  talk  too 
soon,  ought  they?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  Susy  returned,  appeased.  "  Don't 
you  know, 

"  //  you  talk  before  you  go 
Your  tongue  will  be  your  overthrow"? 

"Is  that  so?"  Mr.  Wilbour  inquired  genially. 
"Well,  in  that  case  we're  sure  of  one  thing .- 
Binks  will  never  be  overthrown  that  way,  will  he? 
And  that's  a  mighty  good  thing,  too.  I  say, 
Tootie,  William  Sears  must  have  talked  terrible 
soon,  mustn't  he?" 

"Hush,  Tommy;  Will  is  all  right,  only—" 

"Yes,  that's  just  it — 'only.'  He  was  telling 
us  about  Dot  to-day,  and  that  fool  thing  she  said 
about  her  prayer-book.  It  makes  me  tired — a 
child  four  years  old!" 

"Well,  but,  Tommy,  you  must  admit  it  was 
funny.  She  was  so  calm  about  it.  I  heard  her 
myself,  you  know — it  was  to  Mrs.  Upton  she  said 
it.  She  opened  it  at  the  title-page  and  handed  it 
to  Mrs.  Upton,  and  remarked  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way,  'This  is  a  very  excellent  picture  of 
Jesus,  Mrs.  Upton !'  Any  one  would  have  thought 


THE    MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

she  had  seen  half  a  dozen  proofs!     You'd  have 
had  to  laugh,  Tom." 

"  Oh,  well,  but  you  do  get  tired  of  the  best  story 
in  the  world  when  Will  Sears  tells  it,  Toots." 


"'THIS    IS    A    VERY    EXCELLENT    PICTURE,    MRS.    UPTON*" 

"You  mean  you  do,  Tommy." 

"  I  mean  any  person  of  sense  does.  How  in  the 
world  you  could  ever  have  seen  anything  in  that— 
that—" 

144 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"Tommy!" 

"Well,  he  is.  More  so  than  anybody  I  ever 
knew." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  used  to  be  very  inter 
esting  sometimes." 

"O  Lord!" 

"Well,  he  did.  Ask  any  of  the  girls.  You 
know  he  has  travelled  a  good  deal — " 

"Where?  To  the  Holy  Land  and  back,  with 
that  imbecile  party." 

"I  don't  see  why  they  were  imbecile." 

"You  don't?  Why,  they  must  have  been,  to 
take  William  Sears  along!" 

Regarding  this  subject  as  closed,  Mr.  Wilbour 
moved  lightly  to  another. 

"  Why  did  you  try  to  teach  Binks  to  say '  papa ' 
first?"  he  demanded.  "  I  thought  that  was  out  of 
date.  I  thought  they  opened  up  nowadays  with 
German  poetry." 

"Oh,  you  mean  because  Nathalie  Upton  hap 
pened  to  learn  that  kindergarten  song  from  her 
brother.  It's  because  p  is  easy  to  say,  Tom." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  be  so  in  the  case  of  my  son," 
his  father  observed.  "  If  ever  a  child  came  within 
an  inch  of  exploding  with  a  loud  report,  he's  it. 
If  I  were  you,  I'd  try  the  rest  of  the  alphabet 
first." 

"You  see,"  Susy  continued  seriously,  "there 
145 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

are  two  ways.     They  may  begin  with — with  spon 
taneous  ejaculations  or — 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Toots!" 

"That's  all  right,  that's  just  the  word.  Or 
else  they  may— 

"  If  it's  like  the  first  one,  dearest,  don't  say  it 
so  quickly,  and  explain  as  you  go — won't  you?" 

"Now,  you've  made  me  forget  it,  Tommy,— 
oh,  you're  mussing  my  hair! 

"I  can't  think  of  the  word,"  Susy  resumed, 
after  a  pause,  "but  it  means  mewing  like  a  cat, 
you  know." 

"Mewing  like  a —  My  country!  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  they  can  get  that  way  so  soon  ? 
I  thought  you  had  to  inherit  it,  and  I'm  sure— 

"Tommy,  don't  be  dreadful!" 

"But  you're  the  dreadful  one,  Miss!  It's 
enough  to  gray  one's  hair.  It  sounds  like  Edgar 
Allan  Poe.  You  wake  up  in  the  night  in  an  old, 
lonely  mansion,  and  you  feel  feelings  that  you 
can't  express,  but  they  are  more  than  curdling, 
and  the  water  drips  from  the  eaves,  and  you  have 
a  kind  of — of — murdered  sensation— 

"Tommy,  don't!" 

" — sensation,  and  there's  a  weight  on  your 
chest,  and  a  sort  of  pattering  noise  begins,  and, 
well,  you  know  that  It  is  coming,  coming,  coming !" 

"Tommy  Wilbour,  stop  this  minute!" 
146 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"And  then  you  know  that  you  knew  from  the 
beginning  that  there  was  something  strange  about 
this  house,  and  that  the  strangeness  was  in  the 
soul  of  the  man  that  died  there  in  the  sombre 
October,  when  all  was  dank  and — and — dank — " 

"You  said  dank  before." 

"That's  all  right — you  wait.  It  comes  nearer, 
nearer,  nearer,  and  moans  and  weeps,  but  that  is 
not  the  worst,  for  through  the  moaning  you  begin 
to  hear  a  sound  that  pulls  your  hair  upward  with 
sheer  terror,  a  sound  that  holds  you  stiff  and  stark 
to  the  bed,  a  sound  that  makes  you  realize  that 
this  is  indeed  the  end ;  it  is — it  is — 

"Oh,  please,  Tommy!" 

"It  is,"  Mr.  Wilbour  continued  relentlessly, 
"the  Mewing  of  a  Cat! 

"Heavens!  What  cat?  Alas,  you  know  but 
too  well!  The  cat  that  in  the  gloomy  midnight, 
when  she  prayed  in  vain,  helped  you  slay  the 
soul—" 

"Tom,  I  shall  scream!" 

"—of  the  Lady—" 

"Aunt  Emma!    Aunt  Emma!" 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Susy?  Be  quiet,  you  are 
frightening  Martin!" 

"Make  him  stop,  Aunt  Emma — he's  tickling 
me —  Ow!  ow!  Oh,  Tom,  please!" 

"Tom,"    Aunt    Emma    commanded    severely, 

147 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"stop  this  minute.     I'm  ashamed  of  you — you'll 
have  her  in  hysterics.     The  idea!" 

"That's  all  right — she  pulled  my  hair.  And 
my  ears,  too.  Just  because  I  was  telling  her  a 
story  about  an  old,  lonely  mansion— 

At  this  point  Martin  Brinkerhoff  giggled  remi- 
niscently.  It  was  a  soft,  polite  giggle,  but  it  ex 
pressed  volumes,  and  the  creator  of  the  old,  lonely 
mansion  stopped  abruptly. 

"Good  heavens!  do  you  think  he  understood?" 
he  inquired  with  deep  concern. 

"Of  course  he  did,  and  he  was  disgusted — 
simply  disgusted.  He  probably  thinks  you're 
crazy.  If  you  could  ever  keep  still  long  enough 
to  listen  to  anybody  else,  Tommy,  you'd  find 
out  lots  of  things  you  never  knew  at  all." 

"For  instance?"  Mr.  Wilbour  suggested  po 
litely. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  Binks  would  necessarily 
mew,  you  see.  Sometimes  it's  a  rooster,  or  a  dog, 
or — or  anything  they  happen  to  hear,  you  know. 
You  have  to  begin  some  way.  And  usually  they 
imitate,  I  believe." 

"Oh!  Well,  if  he  waits  to  hear  a  rooster,  I 
fear  he'll  wait  some  time,  my  dear.  I  didn't  no 
tice  many  on  Seventy-ninth  Street  to-day.  How 
ever,  that  may  have  been  my  abstracted  way.  I 
get  thinking  of  things— 

148 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

"Oh  yes!" 

Mrs.  Wilbour's  tone  was  distinctly  unsympa 
thetic. 

"  But  better  a  rooster — even  an  imaginary  one, 
dearest,  than  a  cat.  I'm  glad  he  needn't  mew. 
Somehow  I  have  a  horror  of  that  sound.  It  makes 
me  think  of— 

"  There,  there,  Tommy,  you  told  what  it  made 
you  think  of.  The  question  is,  will  he  just  make 
some  kind  of  noise,  or  will  he  try  to  sound  like 
something?  Aunt  Emma  wants  to  know;  don't 
you,  Aunt  Emma?" 

"Why,  yes,  it  would  be  interesting,"  Miss  Wil- 
bour  returned,  but  without  that  enthusiasm  that 
ordinarily  characterized  her  researches  into  her 
grandnephew's  development.  It  is  probable  that 
it  had  occurred  to  her  that  she  was  highly  un 
likely  to  assist,  in  her  character  of  disinterested 
scientist,  at  Martin's  conversational  debut;  any 
sign  of  forthcoming  speech  was  only  too  certain 
to  be  caught  by  the  ever-ready  Belle,  who  would 
at  this  point  convey  him  most  certainly  to  some 
one  of  her  cherished  coverts — notably  the  laun 
dry — and  there  exercise  him  in  the  production 
of  those  exclamations,  ejaculatory  or  imitative, 
which  should  occur  to  him  as  most  expressive  of 
his  state  of  mind. 

For  Belle,  alas,  had  no  appreciation  of  the  in- 

ii  149 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

estimable  value  to  science  of  Aunt  Emma's  red 
book.  Her  idea  of  its  baleful  influence  on  her 
charge's  destiny  might  readily  be  gained  from 
the  frequency  and  persistence  of  her  abductions. 
How  many  of  his  earliest  grunts  and  mutterings 
had  been  snatched  from  chronicling  she  only 
knew ;  through  what  psychological  labyrinths  his 
first  conceptions  struggled  must  remain,  except 
for  her  explication,  lost  to  the  world. 

"There,  there,  precious!"  she  would  murmur, 
when  a  hasty  glance  into  Aunt  Emma's  room 
convinced  her  that  the  red  book  was  not  in  sight 
— "There,  there;  come  with  Belle.  She'll  take 
care  of  the  lamb,  yes,  she  will!" 

And  Martin,  who  now  travelled  with  a  consider 
able  velocity,  would  pat  along  by  her  side,  grasp 
ing  her  finger,  apprehensively  viewing  the  land 
scape  o'er  in  order  to  escape  lurking  footstools  or 
turned-over  rug-corners.  Once  in  safe  retreat, 
he  would  settle  himself  on  the  cushion  provided 
by  the  thoughtful  companion  of  his  flight,  and  di 
vert  himself  with  his  recent  favorite  occupation 
of  taking  off  and  putting  on  his  shoes  and  stock 
ings. 

With  one  fat  forefinger  he  would  poke  button 
after  button  through  its  hole,  religiously  wetting 
his  finger  in  his  mouth  between  each  operation, 
and  having  removed  the  shoes,  he  would  peel 

150 


"MARTIN  WOULD  PAT  ALONG  BY  HER  SIDE 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

each  stocking  from  its  stumpy  little  foot.  As  the 
last  pink  toe  appeared  he  would  utter  a  grunt 
of  approval,  and,  having  with  some  small  diffi 
culty  counted  the  treasured  members,  forward  and 
backward,  for  he  was  highly  accurate,  he  would 
reverse  the  process  as  far  as  possible,  and  some 
times  succeed  in  pulling  on  one  stocking  part  way. 
At  this  juncture,  Belle,  who  had  learned  to  look 
up  from  her  book  instinctively  at  the  proper 
point,  would  complete  the  operation,  Martin's 
eyes  following  her  with  interest  as  she  pressed 
each  button  back  into  place  and  fastened  his  di 
minutive  stocking-supporters  with  a  brisk  snap. 

"What  precision!  what  despatch!  An  excel 
lent  nursemaid,  indeed!"  appeared  to  tremble  on 
his  lips,  but  he  withheld  any  actual  comment. 
After  a  moment  spent  in  admiration  of  her  handi 
work,  he  would  wet  his  fingers  and  push  again  at 
the  top  button  of  the  left  shoe,  and,  to  quote  the 
rules  in  the  Arithmetic,  proceed  as  before. 

Belle,  who  shared  her  mistress's  regret  that 
their  charge  had  not  distinguished  himself  by  an 
earlier  and  more  pronounced  grasp  of  the  lan 
guage,  would  often,  on  these  occasions,  try  her 
hand  at  inducing  him  to  commit  himself,  by  ever 
so  small  a  syllable,  to  his  native  tongue. 

"Gome  on,  Mister,  and  say  'ta-ta*  when  I  give 
you  your  shoe!"  she  besought  him,  one  morning. 

152 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

"Come  on,  now!  'Ta-ta,  Belle!'  Say  it!  Say 
it!  Here  I  know  lots  of  little  boys,  and  none  of 
'em  don't  act  like  that,  not  a  bit.  You  give  'em 
a  shoe,  and  what  do  they  say?  Tell  me  that!" 

Martin  evinced  a  polite  curiosity  as  to  the  re 
marks  of  other  and  more  loquacious  infants,  but 
appeared,  for  his  own  part,  quite  ignorant  of 
their  ordinary  course  under  the  circumstances  in 
question. 

"  Well,  I  won't  give  you  the  other,  then.  No, 
shoe  all  gone.  Bad  Martin  can't  have  his  shoe. 
Not  a  bit.  What  does  he  say?  Ta-ta?  Willy' 
say  it?" 

The  obvious  idiocy  of  the  two  syllables  had 
evidently  been  long  apparent  to  the  youth,  but 
the  added  insult  of  suggesting  that  he  should  stoop 
to  employ  them  with  absolutely  no  cause,  the  ob 
ject  of  his  gratitude  being  at  present  purposely 
withdrawn,  was  too  much  for  his  endurance,  and 
arising  from  his  cushion,  he  stood  upon  one  bare 
foot  in  an  attitude  so  menacing  as  utterly  to  win 
the  heart  of  any  feminine  spectator. 

"Well,  so  he  was!  Sweet  as  honey,  was  he? 
Was  he  the  smartest  baby  on  the  street,  was  he? 
Never  mind;  it  don't  matter,  it  don't  make  no 
difference  if  that  Roseman  family's  baby  can  talk. 
I  guess  she's  more'n  nine  months,  no  matter  what 
they  say!  And  I  know  they're  Jews,  too.  I'll 

153 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

bet  they  are.  She's  too  fat,  too,  ain't  she,  Mar 
tin?  Can't  stand  up,  can  she?  I'll  bet  there's 
no  pork  goes  into  that  house!  No,  indeed." 

Martin  regarded  his  foot  pensively  and  shook 
his  head  slowly  and  emphatically  from  side  to 
side,  as  if  he  saw  too  clearly  the  inevitable  pneu 
monia  that  threatened  his  future  years.  Con 
trition  seized  his  nurse. 

"Bless  his  heart!  was  he  catchin'  his  death  o' 
danger?  Well,  here's  his  shoe.  Put  it  on,  baby, 
or  you'll  sneeze  in  a  minute.  But  say  'Ta-ta'! 
Say,  'Ta-ta,  Belle!'  Hurry  up,  now!" 

Martin  gave  a  pathetic  sniff;  it  was  as  if  that 
fatal  fiend  the  grippe  had  already  marked  him 
for  its  own. 

"Here,  here!  None  o'  that,  now!  Here's 
your  shoe!  Let  me  put  it  on,  quick.  "Don't  you 
dare  to  sneeze !  If  Miss  Emma  heard  you  sneeze, 
Mister,  I  know  who'd  get  it!" 

A  malicious  grin  wrinkled  the  corners  of  the 
baby's  mouth. 

"  I  know  too,  my  poor  girl,  and  it  wouldn't  be 
me!"  he  very  nearly  rejoined. 

"Oh,  you  young  rascal!  They'll  have  to  get 
up  early  if  they  want  to  beat  you!  Do  you  see 
him  cock  his  head  at  me?  But  never  a  word!" 

It  was  Aunt  Emma  who  almost  inveigled  him 
into  speech.  It  appeared  that  the  supporters  of 

154 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

the  spontaneous-ejaculation  theory  banked  heavi 
ly  on  the  suggestive  and  picturesque  expression 
of  the  idea  of  absence,  negation,  separation,  im 
possibility,  etc.  The  normal  infant,  one  gathered 
from  a  detailed  consideration  of  this  theory,  com 
bined  in  one  sweeping,  masterful  epithet  the  very 
marrow,  the  essential  quality,  of  all  these  ideas, 
and  applied  it  indiscriminately  to  the  loss  of  his 
bottle,  the  departure  of  summer,  the  absence  of 
an  elevator  in  his  apartment,  or  the  failure  of  the 
Democratic  party.  Out  of  7369  selected  sub 
jects,  6541  had  first  indicated  their  connection 
with  the  speaking  public  by  means  of  some  such 
pregnant  word,  and  it  was  Aunt  Emma's  inten 
tion  to  tempt  her  grandnephew  into  conversa 
tional  indiscretion  by  means  of  an  artificially  in 
duced  situation. 

Having  set  her  trap  with  a  treasured  red  ball, 
a  dilapidated  rubber  cow,  a  silver  soup-ladle  high 
in  present  favor,  his  pet  cushion,  and  his  wonder 
ing  parents,  this  devotee  of  science  began  to  with 
draw  the  various  objects  of  interest,  one  by  one. 

Grasping  the  red  ball  elaborately,  she  pranced 
out  of  the  room  with  it,  remarking  in  her  flight, 

"All  gone,  Martin,  all  gone!" 

The  rubber  cow  was  next  escorted  from  the 
room,  tail  foremost,  and  deposited  in  the  hall. 

"All  gone,  baby!     Cow  gone  away!" 
155 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Martin  eyed  the  cow's  disappearing  and  dented 
nose  with  rising  interest.  As  the  soup-ladle  was 
trailed  temptingly  through  the  door  he  made  an 
involuntary  movement,  and  squirmed  to  his  feet 
as  the  cushion  went  the  way  of  all  his  diversions. 


"AND  SQUIRMED  TO  HIS  FEET" 

"Mamma  going  now!  (Come,  Susy,  let  me 
push  you  out!)  See,  Martin,  all  gone!" 

And  Susy,  bewildered  but  docile,  was  propelled 
into  the  all-devouring  hall.  Martin's  eyes  grew 
round,  his  chin  quivered.  Would  nothing  be 
left  him?  Tom  remained  obstinately  on  the  sofa, 
eying  his  son  with  interest. 

156 


THE   MEMOIRS   OT   A    BABY 

"  Don't  you  let  them  fool  you,  old  man ;  they're 
all  out  there  behind  the  door,"  he  declared  reas 
suringly.  "And  don't  you  speak  till  you're  good 
and  ready,  either!" 

" Come  on,  now,  Tom,  and  go  out  slowly!     See, 
baby,  papa's  all  gone!     Martin  all  alone!     All" 
gone?     O-o-o-h,  too  bad,  all  gone!" 

Aunt  Emma  crooned  out  this  desolating  phrase 
in  a  manner  to  convince  the  most  self-satisfied 
infant  of  absolute  and  final  desertion.  Nor  was 
her  tone  lost  on  the  object  of  all  this  pantomime. 
It  was  only  too  evident  to  him  that  there  would 
be  little  left  in  the  room  but  the  walls  and  the 
floor  if  this  devastating  hand  were  not  by  some 
means  stayed.  His  eyes  wandered  to  the  dining- 
table — would  the  inexplicable  woman  take  that, 
too? 

"It's  up  to  you,  Binks!"  his  father  observed, 
his  head  in  the  doorway.  "  Say  it  quick,  if  you're 
going  to!  The  hall's  full.  We're  all  gone  —  in 
deed  we  are !  Quite,  quite  gone,  as  William  puts 
it." 

The  head  disappeared.  There  was  a  silence  in 
the  room.  Aunt  Emma,  herself  withdrawn  now, 
watched  through  a  crack  in  the  door,  one  hand  on 
the  knob.  Suddenly  the  hand  trembled,  for  Mar 
tin,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door,  began  to  coo  and 
hum  reminiscently ;  his  tones  mimicked  her  late 

157 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

inflection  perfectly.  It  was  only  a  premonitory 
chanting,  a  soft,  indistinct  murmur,  but  surely 
the  precursor  of  impending  speech!  Instinctive 
ly  her  own  lips  formed  the  syllables  of  her  late 
motif,  'while  to  her  joy,  Martin's  own  lips  opened, 
he  breathed  a  soft  vowel  —  was  it  "A -a -aw"? 
Still  wider  his  lips  parted,  he  set  his  jaw. 

"  G-g-guh-guh —  Aunt  Emma's  excited  grasp 
shook  the  door-knob ;  it  rattled  slightly.  Martin's 
glance  wandered  to  the  crack ;  it  seemed  to  Aunt 
Emma  that  he  looked  her  in  the  eye. 

Then  an  inscrutable  smile  drew  up  the  corners 
of  his  lips,  his  lids  drooped.  He  sank  gently  on 
the  floor,  and  yawning,  laid  his  head  upon  his 
outstretched  arm. 

"She  almost  caught  me,  but  not  quite,  thank 
heaven!"  it  is  probable  that  he  whispered,  as  he 
composed  himself  in  an  elaborately  sleepy  atti 
tude,  and  when  they  came  back  softly  after  two 
minutes  of  patient  silence,  only  a  tiny  snore 
greeted  them  from  the  middle  of  the  carpet. 

"The  spontaneous-ejaculation  man  is  wrong, 
Aunt  Emma,"  Tom  whispered  as  Susy  bent  ador 
ingly  over  the  triumphant  Machiavelli,  "he  is 
imitating — a  little  pig!" 


VIII 
WHICH    DEALS    WITH   THE   MYSTERY  OF   SPEECH 


as  the  books  used  to  say, 
|JC°  rolled  on,  and  increased  the  stature 
of  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wilbour,  and 
,°W°  darkened  his  hair,  and  strengthened 
his  legs,  but  did  not  unloose  his 
tongue.  It  was  fondly  hoped  by  his  relatives  that 
the  occasion  of  his  second  birthday,  with  its  attend 
ant  celebrations,  might  excite  him  to  a  few  words 
of  appreciation,  but  though  he  looked  volumes — 
encyclopaedias,  to  quote  his  father — and  nodded 
his  head  energetically  at  the  proper  points,  to 
say  nothing  of  frowning  expressively  when  cir 
cumstances  forced  him  to  disagree  with  any  of 
the  guests'  remarks,  the  discreet  silence  of  his 
earlier  life  remained  unbroken. 

"It's  useless  to  pretend  that  he  doesn't  under 
stand,  Tom,  for  he  does,"  Aunt  Emma  declared 
emphatically.  "  You  ought  to  have  seen  him 

159 


when  the  doctor  came  to  see  Belle  and  was  telling 
Susy  about  her  in  the  nursery.  When  he  said 
to  keep  her  quiet  for  a  day  or  two  and  she'd  be 
all  right — that  there  wasn't  any  need  for  our  wor 
rying — Martin  was  watching  him  closely  all  the 
time,  and  he  looked  just  as  relieved  when  he  said 
that.  You  can't  imagine.  We  all  noticed  it." 

"Do  I  doubt  it  for  an  instant,  Aunt  Emma? 
Haven't  I  seen  him  argue  for  minutes  together 
without  opening  his  mouth?  It's  not  that  I 
think  him  brainless — be  calm,  Toots — but  I'm 
afraid  of  him.  Why  shouldn't  he  talk?  I  talk, 
you  talk,  Belle  talks,  Norah  talks,  we  all  talk — 
why  doesn't  he?" 

"He  could  if  he  chose,"  Susy  insisted,  obsti 
nately. 

"All  the  worse,  all  the  worse,  my  dear  girl. 
When  people  can  talk  and  won't,  what  is  behind 
it?  They  have  their  reasons,  doubtless,  but  what 
are  those  reasons?  Do  you  know  them?  Do  I? 
No;  if  we  did  we  should  tell.  Our  natures  are 
open,  frank,  sympathetic.  Concealment  is  for 
eign  to  us.  That  is,"  Mr.  Wilbour  interrupted 
himself,  "it  is  to  me." 

Meeting  with  no  response  from  his  audience 
but  a  slight  sniff,  he  continued : 

"  Not  that  I  would  force  any  confidence  that 
would  be  improper  for  me  to  hear.  Not  for  a 

160 


THE   MEMOIRS   OT   A   BABY 

moment.  I  recognize  that  Binks  has  a  right  to 
his  own  secrets.  I  am  not  one  of  those  unreason 
able  parents  who  think  that  because  a  certain 
person  happens  to  be  their  child  they  have  the 
right  necessarily  to  control  every  thought  of  that 
person's  mind.  No  indeed.  I  respect  his  individ 
uality,  I  hope,  as  much  as — as  any  of  the  ladies 
that  ever  wrote  books  about  it  could  wish,  but 
at  the  same  time  I  am  hurt — hurt  and  disap 
pointed." 

"Why,  Tom,  what  do  you  mean?" 
Susy's   eyes  were   fastened   on  her  husband's 
serious  face;  she  was  obviously  uncertain  as  to 
his  earnestness. 

"What  do  I  mean?  Why,  simply  this.  If 
Binks  had  taken  me  aside  at  any  time  and  said, 
'  My  dear  father,  owing  to  reasons  which  I'm  not 
at  liberty  to  give,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  communi 
cate  with  you  verbally  for  some  time — for  an  in 
definite  period,  in  fact,'  should  I  have  resented 
it?  No.  I  should  have  said  immediately,  'Why, 
that's  all  right,  old  fellow:  don't  mention  it,  I'm 
sure.  Don't  talk  till  you  feel  you  can  do  so  with 
perfect  propriety." 

"But,  Tommy,  he  couldn't  say  all  that!" 
"No?"  Mr.  Wilbour  rejoined.     "Well,  perhaps 
not.     But  a  hint,  a  few  words,  would  have  suf 
ficed.     I  hope  I  have  a  little  tact,  my  dear." 

162 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

"I  hope  you  have  a  little  sense,"  Aunt  Emma 
retorted  severely,  "though  sometimes  I  doubt  it. 
I  should  think,  Susy,  you  would  be  used  to  Tom 
Wilbour  by  this  time.  You  listen  to  him  as 
though  what  he  said  was  worth  a  row  of  pins." 

Susy  might  have  replied  with  some  pertinence 
that  for  at  least  one-half  of  her  nephew's  discourse 
Aunt  Emma's  attention  had  been  as  fixed  as  his 
wife's,  but  she  did  not.  Nor  did  she  suggest  that 
in  proportion  to  the  length  of  that  lady's  ac 
quaintance  with  Mr.  Wilbour  she  exhibited  a  far 
greater  degree  of  credulity  than  any  other  mem 
ber  of  his  household.  She  only  smiled  absently, 
with  a  worried  look  at  her  son,  who,  in  the  tem 
porary  absence  of  Belle,  was  playing  with  the 
soup-ladle  under  the  direction  of  the  entire  fam 
ily.  Having  failed  in  the  attempt,  which  had 
lasted  through  the  morning,  to  put  the  bowl  into 
his  mouth,  at  the  same  time  holding  the  handle 
firmly  between  his  knees,  he  was  devoting  the  af 
ternoon  to  an  equally  unsuccessful  endeavor  to 
sit  in  it.  Occasional  disgusted  grunts  chronicled 
his  successive  disappointments,  but  his  general 
attitude  was  one  of  control,  though  it  carried 
a  definite  implication  of  fighting  it  out  on  this 
line  if  it  took  all  summer. 

His  guardians  watched  him  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence,  and  only  the  clink  and  ring  of  the  elu- 

163 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

sive  ladle  as  it  slid  from  under  the  impending  bulk 
of  its  young  master  and  echoed  on  the  floor,  ac 
companied  by  the  thud  of  his  soft  body,  broke 
the  stillness. 

"Heavens!  how  nervous  I  am!  I  simply  can 
not  watch  that  child  another  minute !"  Aunt 
Emma  exclaimed,  and  left  the  room  abruptly. 


"THE  ELUSIVE  LADLE  SLID  FROM  UNDER 
THE  IMPENDING  BULK  " 

"Wouldn't  you  think  he'd  swear,  though?" 
Mr.  Wilbour  queried,  as  Binks  fell  over  the  han 
dle  and  knocked  his  ear  on  the  bowl. 

"  I'd  rather  he  would— if  he'd  only  talk!"  Susy 
164 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

declared  recklessly.     Her  husband  regarded  her 
with  admiring  surprise. 

"  Would  you,  now?"  he  remarked.     "  Dear  me!" 

Again  there  was  a  silence,  and  the  light  drizzling 
rain  that  hit  the  nursery  window  was  for  a  while 
the  only  sound,  for  Martin  had  fallen  asleep  on 
the  floor  with  the  ladle  clasped  to  his  breast. 

At  last  Tom  spoke,  low,  on  Martin's  account, 
and  confusedly,  because  of  a  discontented  yawn 
that  thickened  his  speech. 

"I  thank  the  Lord  there's  only  one  Memorial 
Day  in  the  course  of  the  year." 

"Decoration  Day,  I  call  it,"  his  wife  suggested 
in  a  superior  tone. 

"That's  a  provincialism,  and  a  childish  one 
at  that.  The  inhabitants  of  New  England,  among 
whom  I  am  proud  to — 

"  Oh  yes,  the  breaking  waves  dashed  high.  I 
know  all  about  that,"  Mrs.  Wilbour  interrupted 
irreverently.  "  Anybody  would  think  that  Massa 
chusetts  was  the  one  place  where  you  could  learn 
that — or  anything  else!" 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  best  place,"  Mr.  Wil 
bour  replied  politely,  "  though  I  should  not  like 
to  say — " 

"Oh,  get  along,  Tommy!  I  should  think  not! 
Decoration  Day  has  some  sense :  that's  what  they 
do — decorate." 

ia  165 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"Don't  tell  me  what  they  do,"  her  husband 
returned  snappishly,  yet  with  a  careful  suppres 
sion  of  voice  and  a  glance  at  the  sleeping  Binks, 
"I  know  too  well!  What  have  I  been  doing  all 
the  morning  ?  They,  indeed !  You  might  as  well 
say  me,  for  nobody  has  decorated  more  to  the 
square  inch  than  I  have.  Those  infernal  snow 
balls  !  It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  them !  Ugh !' ' 

Susy's  face  grew  involuntarily  more  sympa 
thetic. 

"Was  it  very  bad  this  time?"  she  inquired. 

"Bad?  It  was  worse  than  ever.  It  makes  me 
nervously  prostrated  for  the  day.  It  would  be 
one  thing  if  I  ever  knew  any  of  'em  from  Adam." 

"You  knew  Uncle  William  Wyman,"  Susy  re 
minded  him  perversely. 

"Uncle  William  Wyman!"  He  exploded  in  a 
snort  of  rage  that  threatened  the  slumber  of  his 
son,  who  turned  uneasily  in  the  midst  of  happy 
dreams  of  an  abject  and  conquered  soup  -  ladle. 
"Yes,  I  did  know  Uncle  William  Wyman,  and 
for  how  long?  For  exactly  two  years,  when  I 
was  fifteen  years  old!  Besides  being  the  most 
narrow-minded  man  in  the  town,  and  making 
me  pass  the  plate  when  I  had  new  boots  that 
squeaked  all  over  the  church — 

" Hush !  you'll  wake  Martin  up!" 

"Very  well,  then,  don't  mention  Uncle  William 
1 66 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

Wyman's  name  to  me!  Slapping  down  snow 
balls  on  his  grave,  indeed !  I  think  Aunt  Em  is 
perfectly  morbid  —  it  upsets  her,  too.  Of  all 
idiotic  holidays!" 

Mr.  Wilbour  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  sprawled  moodily  in  his  chair.  It 
had  been  a  hard  day  for  him. 

Aunt  Emma  was  not  sentimental,  but  she  was 
as  devoutly  given  to  the  yearly  adornment  of  the 
many  graves  of  her  family  connection  as  if  they 
occupied  any  appreciable  part  of  her  thoughts 
during  the  intermediate  time.  It  had  been  her 
custom,  for  the  ten  years  of  her  life  in  New  York, 
to  arise  early  on  the  morning  of  the  3oth  of  May, 
and  proceed  up-town,  reluctantly  accompanied  by 
her  nephew,  bearing  baskets  of  the  snowballs  so 
distasteful  to  him,  and  secure  in  the  consciousness 
of  dozens  more  of  that  obvious  and  solid  blossom 
waiting  at  the  florist's  near  the  great  cemetery. 
"Miss  Wilbour's  snowballs"  were  as  regular  a 
part  of  that  gentleman's  income  as  his  weekly 
church  orders,  and  he  invariably  spared  her  one 
of  his  little  sons  to  stagger  under  the  two  great 
basketfuls  that  he  had  reserved  for  her.  He  was 
never  without  a  young  son  of  the  proper  age,  and 
Tom  had  been  known  to  hazard  a  bet  that  he 
raised  them  for  this  express  purpose. 

As  a  further  concession  to  the  solemnity  of  the 
167 


"IT    HAD    BEEN    A    HARD    DAY    FOR    HIM*' 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

day,  Aunt  Emma  attired  herself  in  unwonted 
black,  even  to  her  gloves,  and  whistling  or  light 
conversation  on  the  way  was  distinctly  felt  to  be 
out  of  keeping  with  the  occasion.  It  so  happened 
that  with  the  exception  of  one  sister,  who  had  been 
much  older  than  she  and  whom  she  had  hardly 
known,  none  of  the  relatives  buried  at  Woodlawn 
were  closely  connected  with  Miss  Wilbour,  uncles, 
cousins,  and  an  almost  mythical  personage  re 
ferred  to  by  Tom  as  my  half-step-aunt,  compris 
ing  the  tale;  but  there  were  at  least  eight  of 
these,  besides  Tom's  godmother,  whom  he  had 
never  seen,  and  the  betrothed  of  one  of  the 
uncles,  who  was  supposed  to  have  had  a  most 
romantic  history,  complicated  with  a  vow  on 
somebody's  part  to  put  flowers  on  her  grave  once 
a  year. 

One  would  have  supposed  Aunt  Emma  to  be 
the  last  person  likely  to  assume  such  a  respon 
sibility,  but  it  was  nevertheless  her  hand  that 
arranged  the  inevitable  snowballs  beneath  the 
young  woman's  tombstone,  and  her  resigned  if 
somewhat  vague  account  of  the  heroine  that  was 
destined  to  go  down  to  posterity. 

Why  the  snowball  should  appeal  to  Aunt  Emma 
as  the  one  and  only  floral  offering  suited  to  these 
mortuary  purposes  her  nephew  never  learned, 
but  its  association  with  the  tomb  was  definitely 

169 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

fixed  in  his  mind,  and  he  loathed  it  above  all  the 
products  of  nature.  It  was  curiously  connected, 
too,  with  his  married  life.  His  first  lovers'  quar- 


"  '  MISS  WILBOUR'S  SNOWBALLS  ' ' 

rel  with  Susy  had  occurred  on  the  2Qth  of  May, 
and  with  his  own  hands  he  had  given  to  the  mes 
senger-boy  the  enormous  box  of  supposed  roses 

170 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

that  proved  later  to  be  the  first  instalment  of 
Aunt  Emma's  yearly  tribal  sacrifice.  Sick  with 
horror,  for  to  him  any  faintest  connection  with 
the  hated  blossom  was  actually  fatal  to  life,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  insult  of  offering  them  as  a  pro 
pitiatory  gift  to  his  offended  mistress,  Tom  had 
rushed  to  her  house  with  the  roses  scorned  by 
Aunt  Emma,  and  endured  agonies  of  mortifica 
tion  at  the  hands  of  her  sister,  who  had  never 
ceased  to  comment  on  the  originality  of  his  taste 
in  that  direction. 

Well  did  he  remember  the  occasion  of  the  an 
niversary  two  years  ago.  Martin  was  four  months 
old  at  that  time,  and  had  been  forced  to  go  with 
out  his  supper,  as  Tom  had  so  worked  up  Susy's 
sense  of  humor  by  his  dramatic  recital  of  the  cor 
tege  of  the  morning  that  she  had  threatened  a 
real  hysteria,  and  the  nurse  had  sternly  forbidden 
her  to  assist  at  the  approaching  supper-party— 
which  was  hard  on  the  principal  guest.  Aunt 
Emma's  righteous  wrath  on  this  occasion  and  the 
nurse's  ill-concealed  disgust  had  hurt  his  feelings 
very  much. 

The  following  year  he  had  been  observed,  to  his 
undying  wrath  and  shame,  by  one  of  the  most  im 
portant  clients  of  his  firm,  who,  while  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  through  the  grounds,  apparently,  had 
caught  sight  of  the  young  counsel  heaping  snow- 

171 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

balls  upon  his  half-step-aunt's  grave,  and  had  un- 
warrantedly  decided  that  he  was  mourning  over 
the  tomb  of  his  wife.  Being  a  kindly  man  and 
having  been  much  pleased  with  Mr.  Wilbour's 
manners  and  appearance  in  the  office,  where  he 
held  the  position  of  junior  partner,  this  client 
had  walked  softly  to  where  the  bereaved  one 
knelt,  and  waited  reverently.  As  he  rose  to  his 
feet  after  having  covered  the  mound  neatly  with 
the  puffy  white  balls  (Aunt  Emma  was  very  par 
ticular  that  there  should  be  no  bare  spots),  the 
astonished  young  man  felt  a  gentle  pat  upon  the 
shoulder  and  heard  a  subdued  murmur  imply 
ing  that  the  speaker  had  shared  precisely  this  sad 
experience.  Filled  as  he  was  with  deep  self-pity, 
the  sympathy  was  sweet  to  Mr.  Wilbour,  and  for 
a  few  uncomprehending  seconds  he  had  accepted 
it  silently;  then  as  it  dawned  on  him  that  the 
mathematical  probabilities  of  a  half-step-aunt 
and  the  consequent  snowballs  were,  in  the  dis 
tinguished  client's  case,  very  slight,  he  had  de 
manded  an  explanation.  The  distinguished  client 
had  mentioned  softly  the  breaking  of  the  closest 
possible  tie;  Tom  had  scornfully  repudiated  his 
vague  relative  in  this  connection.  The  client, 
surprised  but  obstinately  unenlightened,  referred 
definitely  to  his  own  wife,  "  though  not  so  young 
as  yours,  Mr.  Wilbour." 

172 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

At  which  the  disgusted  Thomas,  with  a  snort 
of  rage,  had  burst  forth, 

"Great  Scott!  It's  my  half -step-aunt,  and  I 
never  saw  her  in  my  life,  and  I  don't  want  to, 
either!" 

At  this  they  had  parted  abruptly,  the  client 
divided  between  incredulity  and  displeasure,  Tom 
resignedly  convinced  that  he  had  estranged  for 
ever  one  of  the  props  of  the  firm,  and  corre 
spondingly  grateful  to  his  half -step-aunt. 

Recollection  of  these  successively  unlucky  an 
niversaries  did  not  add  to  the  victim's  cheerful 
ness  on  the  present  occasion,  and  as  the  atmos 
phere  of  impersonal  gloom  which  wrapped  Aunt 
Emma  extended  inevitably  to  her  niece,  who  re 
flected  to  a  large  extent  the  state  of  mind  of  those 
about  her,  the  house  of  Wilbour  was  sinking  slow 
ly  into  a  state  of  dark  depression.  Tom  was  in 
the  frame  of  mind  in  which  a  woman  snatches  for 
her  handkerchief  and  after  a  few  preliminary 
gulps  collapses  into  a  comfortable  fit  of  tears,  to 
rise  refreshed  and  magnanimous  a  little  later; 
but  Tom  was  a  man,  and  possessed  of  no  other  re 
course  than  to  kick  the  floor  nervously  and  think 
unsuitable  thoughts.  It  occurred  to  him  that  in 
this  crisis  his  wife  was  notably  unhelpful:  far  from 
cheering  him,  she  merely  eyed  the  toe  of  her  slip 
per  morosely  and  scowled  if  his  tappings  and 

173 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

twitchings  seemed  to  threaten  the  repose  of  Mar 
tin,  who  had  twisted  himself  into  a  particularly 
foolish  attitude  around  the  soup-ladle  and  slum 
bered  somewhat  audibly,  with  his  mouth  open. 

"Oughtn't  he  to  shut  his  mouth?"  his  father 
inquired  disparagingly.  "Won't  he  get  some 
thing  or  other?" 

"You  sleep  that  way  sometimes,  and  you  don't 
seem  to  get  anything,"  Susy  returned,  not  with 
out  point  but  with  a  distinct  lack  of  interest.  If 
Mr.  Wilbour  had  known  that  she  was  thinking 
him  perilously  near  the  point  of  getting  too  fat, 
and  resenting  bitterly  the  hideous  tie  he  had  se 
lected  in  unconscious  deference  to  the  day,  he 
would  have  felt  even  more  aggrieved  than  he  did. 

"We  should  all  breathe  through  the  nose,"  he 
announced  didactically,  "everybody  agrees  upon 
that.  You  have  only  to  watch  the  animals — 

"A  dog  breathes  through  its  mouth  when  it's 
running,"  Susy  observed  impersonally. 

Her  husband  frowned. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  dogs,"  he  said  shortly, 

I  <  T >  > 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  take  out  all  the  animals!" 
"A  dog  is  not  the  only  animal,  Susy." 
"  No,  but  it  is  the  most  important  one." 
"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  began  Mr.  Wilbour 
crossly,  "the  horse —     Oh,  what  nonsense!" 

174 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

And  again  they  lapsed  into  silence,  broken  only 
by  the  audible  slumber  of  Binks. 

Suddenly  Tom  realized  a  new  source  of  discom 
fort,  vague  at  first,  but  growing  clearer  with  every 
second.  What  had  been  a  low,  indistinguishable 
crooning  was  developing  into  a  mournful  melody, 
and  as  he  listened,  words  detached  themselves 
from  the  tune: 

"Just    BREAK    the    NEWS    to    MOTHER, 

And  TELL  her  THAT  I  LOVE  'er, 
But  TELL  her  NOT  to  LOOK  for  me, 
For  I  shall  NOT  come  HOME!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Belle,  who  was  solacing  her 
convalescence  with  the  cheerful  variety  of  song 
peculiar  to  her  temperament,  and  even  as  Mr. 
Wilbour  began  to  speak,  the  tune  returned  upon 
itself  and  the  refrain  started  again, 

"Just    BREAK   the    NEWS    to   MOTHER " 

"What  in  the  d — deuce  is  the  matter  with  that 
girl?  It's  enough  to  drive  a  man  to  drink! 
Why  doesn't  she  sing  something  else?"  he  de 
manded  furiously. 

"  She  always  sings  that  kind  of  song,  you  know 
very  well,"  Mrs.  Wilbour  responded.  "I  don't 
believe  she  knows  any  other  kind."  . 

"  It  might  just  as  well  be  Sunday!  I  couldn't 
feel  any  worse,"  he  groaned.  "And  day  after 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

to-morrow  it  will  be  Sunday!  Two  in  a  week. 
It's  too  much.  Can't  she  be  stopped?" 

"I  don't  see  how,"  Susy  answered  unsympa- 
thetically.  "  I  can't  exactly  forbid  the  poor  girl 
to  amuse  herself." 

"Amuse  herself?  Amuse  herself?  Does  that 
ghastly  howling  amuse  her?" 

"  It  must,  or  she  wouldn't  do  it.  Nobody 
urged  her  to  sing,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  he  agreed  bitterly.  "  No 
body  in  their  senses.  How  long —  Heavens! 
what's  that?" 

For  a  depressing  alto  at  that  moment  added 
itself  to  the  melody,  and  wandered  at  an  unsteady 
distance  below  it.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  human 
voice,  but  it  occurred  violently  to  Mr.  Wilbour  that 
no  human  creature  capable  of  producing  such  a  va 
riety  of  sound  could  possibly  have  been  permitted 
to  exist  within  shooting  distance  of  any  fellow-man. 

"Who — what  is  that?"  he  exploded. 

"It  is  Norah,  probably,"  Susy  replied.  "She 
said  she  would  rather  come  up  into  Belle's  room 
and  sit  with  her  than  take  her  afternoon  out. 
Which  was  very  nice  of  her,  of  course." 

"Oh,  very,"  he  muttered  with  his  last  shred  of 
•control,  gritting  his  teeth  fiercely. 

"  For  I  shall  NOT  come  ho-o-o-mel" 
176 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

moaned  the  duet,  the  soprano  wailing  like  a  lost 
soul,  the  alto  recalling  a  fog-horn  on  a  misty  after 
noon  at  sea. 

"Oh,  this  is  too  much  —  I  swear  this  is  too 
much!"  Tom  strode  across  the  room  in  despera 
tion. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Susy  inquired 
warningly. 

"Do?  do?  I'm  going  to  stop  that  infernal 
noise!" 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Tom.  If  they  want  to  sing, 
they  must  certainly  be  allowed  to.  It  does  no 
harm  and  it  won't  last  long,  probably.  Belle 
doesn't  feel  well,  and  it  would  hurt  her  feelings 
very  much  if — ' 

"Well,  I  can  tell  her  one  thing,  she'll  never  feel 
any  better  while  she  does  that !  She'll  have  a  re 
lapse.  And  I  suppose  my  feelings  are  of  no  im 
portance." 

"That's  a  very  different  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
bour. 

"All  my  life  I  have  hated  and  despised  alto!" 
Tom  proclaimed.  "From  a  boy  it  has  affected 
me  very  strangely.  That's  why  I  hate  Sunday. 
People  will  sing  alto  on  Sunday  that  would  never 
dream  of  singing  it  any  other  time.  It's  the 
beastliest  thing  in  the  world.  It  makes  you  want 
to  die  and  get  it  over  with.  They  used  to  have  a 

177 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

prayer-meeting  in  the  house  next  to  ours  in  Green 
field,  and  when  they  got  singing  things  with  alto 
in  'em  I  used  to  get  so  blue  I  nearly  cried.  And 
it's  the  same  way  now." 

"Well,  cry  now,  if  you  want  to,"  Susy  sug 
gested  coolly.  "Why  don't  you?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Wilbour's  self-con 
trol.  In  his  irritable  state  of  nerves  he  could 
bear  no  more,  and  sitting  down  forcibly  in  the 
nearest  chair,  he  uttered  an  angry  and  unpar 
donable  monosyllable. 

I  am  informed  that  this  little  monosyllable  is 
highly  offensive  to  many  if  not  all  of  my  present 
readers,  and  so  I  will  go  no  farther  than  to  say 
that  it  begins  with  a  letter  not  far  from  the  front 
of  the  alphabet  and  is  frequently  encountered  in 
real  life — probably  the  best  of  reasons  for  elimi 
nating  it  from  fiction,  which  should  rather  seek  to 
idealize  the  brutality  of  disgraceful  facts  than  ap 
pear  to  encourage  them  with  recognition. 

The  utterance  of  the  monosyllable  just  men 
tioned  appeared  to  relieve  Mr.  Wilbour's  feelings 
to  a  degree,  for  on  his  wife's  leaving  the  room  with 
dignity,  he  repeated  it,  not  once,  but  three  dis 
tinct  times,  with  great  energy  and  clearness  of  ar 
ticulation.  Pausing  in  a  hasty  march  across  the 
room,  his  hair  rumpled  over  his  ears  and  his  eyes 
narrowed  with  the  force  of  his  remarks,  he  con- 

178 


"HE    CONFRONTED    HIS    SON" 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

fronted  his  son,  who  met  his  look  with  one  so 
knowing  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  en 
tire  appreciation  of  the  situation. 

"Well,"  snapped  his  father,  "what  is  it?  Do 
you  like  that  infernal  alto?  What  have  you  got 
to  say?" 

Binks  unscrewed  the  soup-ladle  from  his  mouth, 
grasped  it  with  both  hands  in  the  fashion  of  a 
golfer  about  to  accomplish  a  tremendous  drive, 
and  smiling  cheerfully  at  his  father,  repeated 
the  monosyllable  the  gentleman  had  just  em 
ployed. 

Mr.  Wilbour  staggered  back,  his  jaw  dropping, 
the  evidence  of  his  senses  in  grave  doubt.  He 
would  as  soon  have  expected  speech  from  the 
cat  as  from  his  son.  As  he  stared  wildly  at  the 
wielder  of  the  ladle,  that  young  person  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  again  manipulating  his  instrument 
in  a  manner  calculated  to  send  a  ball  half-way 
around  the  links,  repeated  the  monosyllable. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  —  he  said  it,  and  he 
meant  it. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment.  That  the  great 
mystery  of  human  speech  should  have  been  re 
vealed  to  Binks  at  a  time  and  in  a  manner  which 
admitted  of  no  proud  advertisement!  He  had 
spoken,  indeed,  but  how?  And  at  whose  instiga 
tion?  Mr.  Wilbour  actually  groaned. 

180 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of  A   BABY 

"Stop  it!  stop  it!"  he  cried.  "For  heaven's 
sake,  Binks,  don't  say  that!  What  will  they  say? 
How  did  I  know  you'd— 

But  Binks,  who  evidently  felt  that  some  nicety 
of  inflection  was  yet  to  be  gained,  calmly  repeated 


"HE    SAID    IT,    AND    HE    MEANT    IT" 

his  last  remark  again  with  so  accurate  a  mimicry 
of  his  father's  tone  that  the  unhappy  man,  divided 
between  admiration  and  horror,  could  only  gasp 
and  glance  fearfully  towards  the  door. 

At  this  point,   Martin,   fixing  his  eyes  firmly 

13  l8l 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

upon  his  parent  and  pounding  the  floor  with  the 
ladle  at  regular  intervals,  recited  entirely  with 
out  punctuation,  but  otherwise  with  masterly 
elocution,  the  following  speech:  "Bad  kitty  put 
'er  out  Aunty  Vail  hot  milk  up-town!" 

"Wh — what?  Here,  Susy,  Aunt  Emma,  come 
here!  Wh — what  did  you  say,  Binks?" 

They  rushed  into  the  room,  pale  with  fright, 
to  see  Tom  squatting  eagerly  before  the  baby, 
beseeching  him  to  repeat  his  recent  address. 

"He's  been  talking  like  a  streak  of  lightning, 
I  tell  you!  He  talks  as  well  as  anybody!  Say 
it  again,  won't  you?  It's  something  about  hot 
milk—" 

"Does  he  want  hot  milk?"  Aunt  Emma  in 
quired  excitedly.  "Shall  I  get  some?" 

"Oh  no,  he  doesn't  want  it:  he  just  mentioned 
it — in  passing,"  Tom  returned,  more  at  ease 
now  and  devoutly  hoping  that  his  son's  sec 
ond  achievement  had  put  the  first  out  of  his 
mind. 

"What  else  did  he  say?"  Susy  demanded  fe 
verishly. 

"  He  said  something  about  Aunty  Vail  and  the 
kitty—  There,  he's  going  to  again!" 

And  indeed  he  began,  with  the  automatic  effect 
of  a  phonograph,  a  curious  suggestion  of  having 
been  filled  with  perforated  rolls  and  wound  up: 

182 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"  Bad  kitty  put  'er  out  Aunty  Vail  hot  milk 
up-town!" 

The  delighted  women  screamed  and  squealed 
with  joy,  Binks  smiled  in  a  superior  manner,  and 
Mr.  Wilbour,  feeling  somehow  responsible  for  the 
whole  thing,  watched  them  complacently. 

"  Was  that  just  the  way  he  said  it  before,  Tom  ?" 
Aunt  Emma  asked  eagerly. 

"Just  exactly." 

"Was  that  all  he  said,  every  bit?"  Susy  added 
quickly. 

"Heavens!  wasn't  that  enough?"  her  husband 
equivocated. 

"Then  the  first  word,  the  very  first  word,  he 
said,  was  'bad,'"  Aunt  Emma  announced. 

"It  certainly  was,"  her  nephew  announced 
heartily,  "it  certainly  was!" 

And  to  his  excited  eyes  it  seemed  that  Martin 
winked  gravely  at  him. 


IX 


WHICH    DEALS   WITH   THE   SOUL  OF  THE  HOUSE 
HOLD 


Soul  of  the    Household,"   de- 

clared     an     elaborately     initialled 

j  j      • 
m°tto     suspended      in     a     passe- 

partout   border    over   the   nursery 
mantel,    "is    the    Prattle    of    the 
Child  that  Glorifies  it." 

If  this  were  true  (and  as  Tom  observed,  "if  a 
motto  isn't  so,  what  is?")  the  soulfulness  of  the 
house  of  Wilbour  bade  fair  to  eclipse  its  every 
other  characteristic.  For  the  son  and  heir  of  the 
establishment  prattled  by  day  and  night,  by  bed 
and  board.  The  sound  of  his  voice  was  as  a  run 
ning  brook;  his  slowly  ripening  talent  appeared 
to  have  flowered  suddenly  like  the  century-plant, 
in  a  single  moment.  But  as  it  may  be  supposed 
that  even  the  proud  owners  of  that  botanical  won 
der  grow  accustomed  in  time  to  its  possession 
and  cease  to  gather  in  the  conservatory  at  the  brief 

185 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

ecstatic  intervals  of  the  first  days,  so  the  Wil- 
bours  found  themselves  in  time  inured  to  the 
once  so  marvellous  observations  of  Martin  Brin- 
kerhoff.  No  longer  now  did  a  breathless  audi 
ence  hang  upon  his  lips ;  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  could  distract  even  Belle's  attention  from  her 
orange-colored  novel. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  would  murmur  absently,  "yes, 
I  know.  All  right.  Why  don't  you  play  with 
that  china  doggie  there?" 

On  such  occasions  poor  Binks  would  nurse  the 
spotted  beast  resentfully  and  begin  to  tell  it  an 
interminable  tale: 

"An'  er  aut'mobile  met  er  shicken  an'  'em 
went  along,  an'  'em  went  along,  an'  'em  went 
along,  an'  'em  played,  an'  'em  played,  an'  'em 
played,  an'  a  little  pig  went  to  market,  an'  a  bad 
boy!  An'  er  water  came  in,  it  did,  an'  er  water 
it  all  came  in,  an'  er  murver  hen  was  there  an'  'em 
ate  it  all  up,  and  a  choo-choo  an'  a  ring  er  bell  an' 
a  canny  came  an'  a  bad  boy !  An'  'em  went  along, 
an'  'em—" 

"Oh,  Binks,  don't  tell  that  all  over  again!" 

Susy  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  began  to  reason 
with  him. 

"You  make  me  so  nervous,  Binks,  and  what 
you  say  hasn't  any  sense  at  all,  to  begin  with. 
It's  just  the  same  thing,  over  and  over  again. 

186 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

You  sound  like  a  phonograph,  exactly.  Now 
mother  will  tell  you  a  story  about  Old  Mother 
Hubbard,  she  went— 

"An'  ershicken?" 

"  No,  there's  no  chicken  in  this  one.  That's 
why  mother  picked  it  out.  Now  listen." 

"An'  er  aut'mobile?" 

"No,  there  isn't  any  automobile,  either." 

An  expression  of  proud  superiority  appeared 
upon  the  face  of  the  listener.  His  story  con 
tained  both  these  points  of  interest,  and  was  of 
more  value  in  his  eyes  than  many  foolish  nursery 
rhymes  notoriously  deficient  in  either  article. 

"Binkstell  'erhory!" 

"Well,  then,  Binks  tell  it.  Where  did  Mother 
Hubbard  go?  To  the—" 

"Aut'mobile!  An'  er  met  er  shicken.  An' 
'em  played,  an'  'em— 

"Foiled  again!"  observed  Mr.  Wilbour  cheer 
fully,  arriving  for  his  Saturday  home  luncheon. 
"  Did  you  really  think  you  could  do  it?  There  is 
one  thing  to  be  said  for  that  child,  and  gratifying 
it  is  to  me  to  be  able  to  say  it:  for  steadiness  of 
purpose,  indomitable  perseverance,  as  they  say 
in  biographies,  I  don't  know  his  equal.  And 
some  people  doubt  the  power  of  heredity!" 

"I  don't  know  who  could  doubt  it,  once  they 
heard  Binks  chatter!"  Susy  returned  promptly. 

188 


TUB   MEMOIRS   Of    A    BABY 

"Oh,  as  to  that  characteristic,  you  are  a  little 
hard  on  yourself,  my  dear,"  her  husband  assured 
her.  "  I  should  hardly  like  to  say  that  you  chat 
tered.  Not  that  you  are  not  perfectly  able  to 
keep  up  your  end  of  a  conversation,  but  I  doubt 
if  you  talk  more  than  most  women." 

"That's  all  right,"  Susy  persisted,  "and  very 
clever,  but  you  ought  to  have  heard  your  Aunt 
Ella  when  she  first  listened  to  Martin  talk.  '  Well, 
well,'  she  said,  'doesn't  that  remind  you  of  Tom 
Wilbour!  Not  the  words,  you  know,  but  the 
way  he  keeps  it  up,  somehow!' ': 

"Pooh!  Aunt  Ella  Wilbour!  That  comes 
well  from  her,  I  must  say!"  Tom  shouted  in 
dignantly.  "The  biggest  talker  in  Greenfield! 
Perfectly  famous  for  it  —  known  far  and  wide. 
Why,  I've  heard  that  woman  converse  steadily 
for  forty -five  minutes  by  the  clock  —  actually 
timed  her!  She'd  ask  for  a  drink  of  water,  just 
like  a  lecturer,  and  you  had  to  wait  while  she 
drank  it,  and  then  on  she'd  go  again.  Aunt 
Ella,  indeed!" 

"I  don't  doubt  it  for  a  moment,"  Susy  an 
swered  with  appreciation,  "and  that  simply 
shows,  as  you  say,  the  power  of  heredity.  It's 
evidently  settled  in  your  family." 

Mr.  Wilbour  grinned  and  tactfully  turned  the 
conversation. 

189 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

"  But  why  should  he  be  so  everlastingly  set  on 
that  automobile-chicken  combination?"  he  que 
ried.  "It's  the  most  perfectly  absurd  thing  I 
ever  heard  in  my  life.  Did  you  ever  tell  him 
about  an  auto  and  a  chicken  eloping?" 

"I?  Never!  How  should  I  think  of  such  a 
thing?  He's  always  told  that  story  that  way. 
And  there's  that  one  about  the  telephone  and  the 
little  pig  and  Tuesday  afternoon — he  always  fin 
ishes  that  one  with,  'An'  'er  called  'er  up  Tuesday 
afternoon !' ' 

"Queer,"  Mr.  Wilbour  mused.  "Modern  in 
ventions  seem  to  strike  him  most  forcibly.  You 
know,  Susy,  I  think  you  and  Aunt  Emma  are 
bringing  the  child  up  wrong  in  that  regard.  You 
try  to  stuff  his  mind  with  foolish  nursery  tales  of 
a  by-gone  age,  and  his  scientific  brain  revolts  at 
it.  All  that  Little  -  boy  -  blue  -  baa  -  baa  -  black- 
sheep  -  simple  -  Simon  nonsense  simply  fatigues 
him,  and  he  tries  to  restore  his  balance  with  a 
little  realism  in  his  own  inventions.  Now  after 
luncheon  I'll  tell  that  boy  a  story  that  will  do 
him  some  good  and  suit  him  down  to  the 
ground." 

True  to  his  word,  Tom  took  his  son  on  his  knee 
a  little  later,  and  having  succeeded  in  silencing 
him  by  alternate  bribes  and  threats,  began  the 
following  tale: 

190 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

THE  MOTOR-CAR  AND  THE  CELERY  SQUAB 

"  Once  upon  a  time  a  twenty  horse-power  elec 
tric,  ball  -  bearing,  copper  -  plated,  double  -  back- 
action,  patent-applied-for  racing-machine  named 
the  Pink  Terror  met  a  celery-fed  squab  named 
Louise,  and  since  they  were  going  the  same  way, 
asked  if  they  might  travel  together  for  a  while. 

"'Yes,  indeed,'  the  squab  replied,  'if  your 
chauffeur  knows  his  business,  for  I  am  too  valu 
able  to  lose.  My  mother  stamped  my  egg  with  the 
date  on  which  it  was  laid  as  soon  as  that  process 
had  been  accomplished,  for  she  was  an  orderly 
fowl,  living  in  a  model  hennery,  and  ate  only 
Threaded  Grain  biscuits  packed  by  sterilized  ma 
chinery,  and  never  drank  with  her  meals.  Later 
the  head  of  the  hennery  gave  me  hypodermic  in 
jections  of  extract  of  celery  and  I  practised  deep 
breathing  exercises  from  a  health  magazine  over 
an  onion-patch  twice  a  day,  on  rising  and  retiring, 
so  that  I  am  practically  all  flavored  now,  and  in 
a  few  more  days  I  shall  sell  for  five  dollars  a  pair 
in  the  city.' 

"'Have  no  fear,'  replied  the  motor-car;  'my 
chauffeur  is  an  electrical  expert,  and  if  anything 
goes  wrong  he  will  not  only  acquaint  your  hen 
nery  by  wireless  telegraphy  with  the  matter,  but 
he  will  preserve  you  by  means  of  liquid  air  and 

191 


THE    MOTOR-CAR    AND    THE    CELERY    SQUAB 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

send  you  to  the  city  via  the  pneumatic-tube  deliv 
ery,  so  that  the  bloated  capitalist  who  expects  to 
serve  you  at  his  dinner  to  the  arbitration  com 
mittee  will  not  be  disappointed.  And  if  by  chance 
you  should  happen  to  disagree  with  the  particu 
lar  baron  of  finance  who  eats  you,  you  will  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  Roentgen  rays 
will  give  to  the  world  the  exact  reason  why  you 
inconvenienced  him.' 

"'In  that  case,'  said  the  squab,  'I  will  accom 
pany  you  with  pleasure.  Just  wait  a  moment 
while  I  drop  a  nickel  in  this  slot  and  get  a  pair 
of  goggles  and  a  green  veil — 

But  at  this  point,  either  because  he  could 
think  of  no  more  modern  inventions  or  because 
Martin  was  peacefully  snoring  against  his  shoul 
der,  the  narrator  ceased  abruptly  and  sighed. 

"You  see  how  it  is,"  he  explained,  "his  mind 
is  so  weakened  by  the  sort  of  thing  he  has  been 
hearing  lately,  that  he  simply  can't  stand  the 
stronger  diet  that  his  nature  really  craves.  It's 
too  bad.  I  could  do  so  much  for  him— 

"You  could  let  him  sleep,  poor  child,"  Aunt 
Emma  suggested,  "that's  the  best  thing  you  can 
do.  He  woke  up  last  night  and  talked  to  him 
self  for  an  hour  almost,  so  he's  tired  to  -  day. 
And  of  course  it  never  disturbed  Susy  a  moment. 
I  heard  him  from  my  room  and  came  in  to  see 

193 


THE    MEMOIRS   OP    A    BABY 

what  was  the  matter,  and  there  he  was  sitting 
up  in  the  crib,  saying  something  about  Tuesday 
afternoon,  and  Susy  fast  asleep  in  her  bed,  not 
three  feet  away  from  him." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Emma,  you  certainly  didn't  want 
me  to  wake  up,  just  to  listen  to  that  pig-tele 
phone  story,  did  you?"  Susy  inquired  defensively. 
"I  have  heard  it  so  many  times!  If  you  feel 
that  you  must  hang  over  the  crib  and  listen  to  it 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  just  out  of  polite 
ness,  you  may,  but  I  think,  myself,  it's  going  too 
far." 

"  It  isn't  that,  Susy,  but  it  seems  so  strange 
that  I  should  hear  him  and  you  not — 

"Oh,  he's  always  imposed  on  you  shamefully, 
Aunt  Em,  from  the  beginning,"  Tom  broke  in. 

"  But  his  own  mother — 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Emma!  When  I  have  been  a  good 
sleeper  all  my  life,  why  on  earth  should  I  develop 
insomnia  just  because  Martin  happens  to  wake 
up?  I  don't  change  all  my  habits  just  because 
I'm  his  mother,  do  I?" 

"Apparently  not" — Aunt  Emma's  tone  was 
most  decisive — "but  a  great  many  people  do,  to 
a  certain  extent.  There  is  Minnie  Sears.  She 
told  me  that  when  she  was  a  girl  two  people  al 
ways  had  to  call  her  in  the  morning— 

"Two?  Which  two?  Why  two?  Any  two?" 
194 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

Tom  and  Susy  demanded  simultaneously,  and 
then,  struck  by  the  comic  -  opera  effect,  burst 
into  laughter  which  marred  the  impressiveness 
of  Aunt  Emma's  further  statements. 

"I  don't  mean  two  people,  necessarily  —  I 
mean  she  had  to  be  called  twice,  Tom.  She 
slept  so  soundly.  But  afterwards  she  said  that 
if  William  or  the  baby  had  a  bad  dream,  even, 
she  seemed  to  feel  it  immediately  and  woke  di 
rectly — it  was  a  kind  of  intuition." 

Susy  pursed  her  lips  and  elevated  her  eyebrows. 

"  Oh  yes,  Minnie  was  always  having  intui 
tions,"  she  observed  sceptically.  "I  remember 
she  had  one  once  that  William  was  sick  or  in 
need  of  her,  or  something,  and  she  came  back 
into  town  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  in  August,  and 
he  had  locked  the  apartment  and  gone  to  Man 
hattan  Beach  to  sleep — it  was  a  perfectly  sick 
ening  day  with  the  thermometer  a  thousand  and 
something.  And  the  janitor  hadn't  any  key." 

"Why,  Susy,  how  dreadful!  I  never  heard 
about  that.  What  did  she  do?" 

"Oh,  she  cried  and  made  a  fuss,  and  then  she 
had  to  go  and  ask  the  family  in  the  apartment 
behind  hers  if  she  could  send  the  hall -boy  in 
to  crawl  across  from  their  dumb  -  waiter.  And 
she  didn't  like  to  do  that,  because  she  wouldn't 
speak  to  the  woman  there  because  she  was  di- 

195 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

vorced,  and  Minnie  would  never  bow,  even  in 
the  elevator,  although  the  woman's  maid  had 
found  Dot  crawling  down  the  stairs  and  brought 
her  back.  But  she  had  to  do  it,  just  the  same, 
so  she  finally  did,  and  then  they  weren't  there 
at  all — they  had  gone  for  the  summer  and  sublet 
it  to  a  queer  sort  of  man  who  was  a  friend  of 
theirs.  And  it  was  half-past  ten  by  the  time  she 
decided  to  send  the  hall-boy  to  ask  them,  and 
he  came  back  and  said  it  was  a  gentleman  there 
and  he  wouldn't  let  him  in  till  he  had  seen  the 
lady  herself.  So  Minnie  went  herself,  and  when 
she  got  in  the  hall  it  was  all  full  of  furniture 
and  the  man  was  cleaning  the  parlor — he  had  a 
broom  and  a  duster.  It  seems  he  was  an  occult 
ist,  and  so  he  did  the  housework  at  night — 

"Susan  Martin,  are  you  raving  mad?  What 
do  you  mean?  An  occultist?" 

"That's  what  I  said — an  occultist.  Don't  you 
know  about  Madame  Blavatsky?  It  was  when 
everybody  had  Ouija  boards,  you  know.  He 
used  to  sleep  in  the  daytime,  and  so— 

"Oh,  well,  it's  all  right,  probably.  It  makes 
my  brain  reel  a  little,  but  no  doubt  it  will  pass. 
Go  on.  I  always  wondered  what  occultism 
meant,  and  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  got  a  real 
ly  definite  idea  of  it.  They  clean  house  at  night, 
then.  Well!  well!  It's  easy  to  pick  'em  out, 

196 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

isn't  it?  There's  no  excuse  for  ever  getting 
caught  with  one,  is  there?  Do  they  have  to 
swear  to  do  it?" 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Tom.  I  don't  know  any 
thing  whatever  about  it — only  what  Minnie  told 
me.  It  doesn't  follow  that  all  occultists  do  it, 
only  this  one  happened  to.  Anybody  else  might 
— an  Episcopalian,  for  instance — 

"Never!  Don't  you  think  so  for  a  moment. 
Did  you  ever  know  one  that  did?" 

"Well,  no;  but  that's  not  the  point,  anyway. 
He  told  Minnie  that  it  was  quieter  at  night,  and 
cooler,  and  he'd  rather  do  his  work  then.  He 
was  an  editor  of  an  occultist  magazine.  He 
kept  a  maid,  but  he  said  she  wasn't  very  neat, 
and  he'd  rather  clean,  himself,  than  do  it  after 
her.  So  she  only  washed  and  ironed,  for  he  was 
a  vegetarian,  and  he  just  ate  nuts  and  prunes  in 
the  summer — " 

"Toots,  this  is  the  most  extraordinary  yarn 
I  ever  heard  in  my  life.  Are  you  perfectly— 

"I  am  only  telling  what  Minnie  told  me.  I 
never  saw  the  man.  And  it's  no  use  asking  me 
about  it,  Tom,  for  I  don't  know  any  more  than 
I'm  telling  you. 

"So  Minnie  thought  he  was  crazy  and  she  ran 
out  of  the  hall  and  wouldn't  go  near  him  again, 
nor  let  the  boy.     And  she  sat  in  the  hall — her 
14  197 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 


own   hall — all  night,   for  she  wouldn't  go   to. a 
hotel   alone.     And   in    the    morning,    when   she 


O 


"'SO    MINNIE    THOUGHT    HE    WAS    CRAZY*" 

knew  William  would  be  at  the  office,  she  called 
him  up,  and  said  she  was  there  and  couldn't  get 

198 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

in.  And  he  didn't  understand  that  she'd  had  all 
those  things  happen  to  her,  and  he  must  have 
thought  she'd  come  in  that  morning,  for  he  just, 
sent  up  the  key  by  a  boy,  and  a  note  telling  her 
that  he'd  given  the  maid  a  vacation  till  Monday, 
it  was  so  hot." 

"That  was  one  on  Minnie,  wasn't  it?"  Tom 
chuckled.  "  I'll  bet  she  was — er,  displeased?" 

"She  gave  the  key  back  to  the  boy  without 
saying  a  word,  and  took  the  first  train  for  Meadow 
Lake.  She  said  it  nearly  killed  her." 

"Poor  girl!  I  don't  wonder,  sitting  in  that 
nasty  hall  all  night,"  Aunt  Emma  sympathized, 
with  a  reproving  scowl  for  Tom. 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that.  It  was  getting  such  a 
note  with  the  key,  and  no  sympathy  for  all  she'd 
gone  through." 

"But,  good  heavens,  Toots,  how  was  Sears  to 
know  what  she'd  gone  through  ?     He  didn't  even 
know  she  was  in  the  city.     He  isn't  an  occultist 
— ril.say  that  much  for  him." 

"Oh,  of  course.  Still,  it  seemed  hard,  when 
she  came  in  just  for  him — 

"Great  Scott!  Do  you  know  what  I'd  do  if 
any  woman  ever  did  that  to  me?  I'd  fix  her 
out!  I'd  teach  her  some  common-sense  if  I  had 
to  sit  up  nights  to  do  it!  I'd— 

"  Now,  Tom,  Minnie  couldn't  help  her  intuition." 
199 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Oh,  couldn't  she?  Well,  she  could  help  act 
ing  like  an  idiot,  whether  she  had  an  intuition  or 
not.  Couldn't  she  have  'em  and  stay  at  home?" 

"  Why,  no,  not  if  she  felt  she  must  go.  That's 
what  intuitions  are  for." 

"The  deuce  they  are!  You'll  observe  it  didn't 
help  her  out  much — her  intuition.  If  ever  you 
should  have  one,  Sue,  I'll  be  obliged  if  you'll  tele 
graph!" 

"Don't  worry,  Tommy  dear;  I  don't  have  'em. 
Will  gave  her  a  lovely  stick-pin,  though,  with 
a  diamond  in  it,  afterwards." 

"There  you  are!  If  ever  an  ass  walked  this 
mortal  earth  below,  it's  William  H.  Sears.  Pre 
mium  on  intuitions,  wasn't  it?  Bright  idea. 
What  a  chump  that  man  is!  Diamond!  Bread 
and  water  was  what  she  needed.  And  I'd  give 
it  to  her,  too." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,  Tom.   You  know  very  well." 

At  this  point  Martin,  who  had  been  deposited  on 
the  sofa,  awoke  with  a  jerk  and  began  mechani 
cally  to  narrate  the  story  of  the  pig  and  the  tele 
phone.  It  was  useless  to  endeavor  to  distract  his 
attention ;  he  fixed  them  firmly  with  his  eye,  and, 
like  the  wedding  guest,  they  could  not  choose 
but  hear,  for  though  his  accent  was  not  one  of 
flawless  purity,  a  nameless  decision  in  his  tone, 
a  certain  indescribable  flavor  of  personality,  gave 

200 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

the  impression  of  a  monologue  entirely  adult 
in  its  nature,  and  one  felt  that  interruption  or 
departure  before  the  climax  of  the  story  would 
stamp  one  as  hopelessly  beyond  the  social  pale. 
So  they  listened  with  a  perfunctory  apprecia 
tion,  as  Martin,  with  definite  if  somewhat  inap 
plicable  gestures,  rehearsed  the  adventures  of  his 
second  set  of  dramatis  personae. 

"Once  er  time  er  was  er  pig  an'  er  blew  an'  er 
puff,  an'  er  blew  an'  er  puff,  an'  er  blew  an'  er 
puff,  an'  er  blew  er  house  down! 

"An'  er  call  'er  up  on  Sunday — all  gone  away! 
An'  er  call  'er  up  on  Monday — all  gone  away! 
An'  er  call  'er  up  on  Tuesday  af'ernoon  an'  er 
central  shut  'er  off. 

"'Somebody  been  lyin'  in  my  bed!'  an'  er  pig 
said  no. 

"  '  Somebody  been  lyin'  in  my  bed!'  an'  er  pig 
said  no. 

" '  Somebody  been  lyin'  in  my  bed,  an'  er  lyin' 
there  now!'  an'  er  pig  said  yes.  An'  er  call  'er 
up  on— 

' '  Oh,  come,  Binks,  that's  not  fair !  You  told  that !" 

"Let  him  alone,  Tom  —  he  always  does  that 
once  more." 

— on  Sunday — all  gone  away!"  the  raconteur 
proceeded  triumphantly,  with  the  inexplicable 
gesture  of  a  farmer  employing  a  scythe. 

201 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

" — Tuesday  afernoon  an'  er  central  shut  'er 
off,"  he  concluded,  at  this  point  waving  his  hand 
as  if  to  a  friend  on  a  departing  steamer. 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  seconds  and  Tom 
opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  was  checked  by 
Susy's  warning  finger.  The  epilogue  was  yet  to 
come.  Presently,  with  a  rapidity  so  great  as  to  be 
almost  unintelligible,  the  concluding  sentence  was 
shot  at  them,  accompanied  by  a  confusing  whirl 
wind  of  pantomime. 

"An'  bumby  'em  found  som'p'n  'em  could  do 
pretty  well  an'  'em  went  an'  did  it!" 

They  rose  in  haste  and  thanked  him  briefly  for 
his  performance. 

"Such  a  pleasant  afternoon!"  Tom  remarked 
politely.  "  How  do  you  think  of  such  fascinat 
ing  stories?" 

"Sinks  tell  hory!  Binks  tell  nice  hory?"  he 
suggested  eagerly,  but  the  immediate  and  simul 
taneous  protest  that  arose  from  the  audience  con 
vinced  even  Master  Wilbour  of  its  sincerity. 

"Not  to-day,  thanks,  if  you  don't  mind,"  his 
father  suggested,  "  some  other  time,  perhaps.  .  .  ." 

And  then  as  unmistakable  evidence  of  the  ap 
proaching  repetition  in  the  shape  of  preparatory 
gestures  alarmed  him,  he  continued  argumenta- 
tively:  "Look  here!  what  do  you  expect,  anyhow? 
When  I  tell  you  a  story,  what  do  you  do  ?  You 

202 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

go  to  sleep.     I'll  bet  you  can't  tell  me  now  what 
my  story  was  about.     Can  you?" 

Binks  was  staring  blankly  ahead,  his  lips  mov 
ing  unconsciously. 


AN      BUMBY      EM    FOUND    SOM  P  N      EM 
COULD    DO    PRETTY    WELL!'" 


"Shicken  met  er  aut'mobile,"  he  muttered, 
agitating  his  feet  violently  from  the  ankle  as  if 
he  were  running  a  sewing-machine. 

Tom  grinned.  "  I  didn't  think  you  caught  the 
drift  of  it,  really,  at  the  time,  but  it  seems  you 

203 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A   BABY 

did,"  he  apologized.  "I  take  it  all  back.  Sup 
pose  we  go  out  for  a  walk,  and  maybe  we'll  meet 
an  aut'mobile  ourselves  and  change  the  current 
of  your  mind  for  a  while?" 

Later,  as  the  family  of  three  moved  slowly 
across  to  the  Park,  Binks  protected  from  the  Jan 
uary  air  by  woolly  gray  leggings,  cap,  and  gloves, 
which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  plump  and 
talkative  squirrel,  his  father  continued  his  crit 
icisms,  pausing  abruptly  at  intervals  to  disen 
tangle  his  son  from  the  successive  lamp-posts  and 
railings  around  which  it  was  his  custom  to  en 
twine  himself. 

"You  will  never  be  great,  never!"  he  com 
plained.  "All  great  men  were  silent.  There 
were  William  of  Orange,  and  Napoleon,  and 
Grant,  and  that  man  that  made  so  much  money 
in  Wall  Street — they  were  all  silent  men.  All 
great  deeds —  Look  out,  Binks!  You'll  get 
your  head  caught  between  those  things  some  day 
so  you  won't  get  it  out  in  a  hurry !  Didn't  you 
ever  hear  about  the  boy  and  the  jar  of  nuts?  I'll 
tell  you  that  story  some  day— 

"  Binks  tell  nice  hory?     Binks  tell—" 

"No,  you  don't.  Not  this  time.  You  just 
keep  quiet." 

"It's  your  own  fault,  Tom,  for  mentioning 
s-t-o-r-y.  You  know  it  always  sets  him  off.  See, 

204 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Martin,  see  all  those  dear  little  dogs!     One,  two, 
three,  four  little  darling  dogs  all  running  along 
together.     Isn't  that  nice?" 
Martin  beamed  ecstatically. 


"WHICH    GAVE    HIM    THE    APPEARANCE    OF    A    PLUMP    AND 
TALKATIVE    SQUIRREL" 

"All  er  dogs — all  er  dogs!"  he  cried,  stretching 
out  his  arms  towards  the  mongrel  procession,  just 
then  on  a  line  with  them. 

"Er  farver  dog,"  he  announced,  as  a  waddling 
205 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

semi-pug  rounded  the  corner;  "er  murver  dog," 
as  a  lean,  polka-dotted  specimen  of  what  is  some 
times  known  as  the  carriage  -  dog  limped  past ; 
"er  Binkie  dog,"  he  greeted  an  animal  with  every 
effort  to  present  the  appearance  of  a  fox-terrier, 
but  of  a  too  obviously  mixed  ancestry;  "an'  er 
Aunt  Emma  dog!"  he  shrilled  at  the  dejected 
greyhound  that  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  pro 
cession,  to  the  unconcealed  delight  of  an  old  gen 
tleman  who  chuckled  audibly  as  he  walked  past. 


DISTINCT   AND   UNDENIABLE    RESEMBLANCE   TO 
THEIR    SOMEWHAT    ANGULAR    RELATIVE" 


Tom  and  Susy,  irresistibly  struck  by  a  distinct 
and  undeniable  resemblance  to  their  somewhat 
angular  relative,  watched  the  retreating  grey- 

206 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

hound  with  an  attempt  at  dignity  which  might 
have  succeeded  had  not  the  animal  turned  its 
head  and  regarded  them  distrustfully. 

"Hello,  Aunt  Emma  dog!"  their  son  called 
cheerily,  and  at  the  reproving  expression  of  the 
long,  narrow  face,  the  look  in  the  eyes  that  said 
plainly,  "You  are  encouraging  that  child  again, 
Tom  and  Susy,  and  very  wrongly!"  the  young 
people  burst  into  laughter  so  infectious  that 
Binks  hopped  around  them,  crowing  joyfully, 
and  the  passers-by  smiled  in  sympathy. 

So  long  did  they  stand,  indeed,  that  Susy, 
alarmed  at  a  premonitory  snuffle,  hurried  Mar 
tin  home  without  a  sight  of  the  horses  that  he 
loved,  and  counselled  Belle  to  rub  his  face  well 
with  cold-cream  when  she  put  him  to  bed. 

The  babble  of  his  adventures  rang  through  the 
house  during  the  hour  of  his  supper  and  disrob 
ing;  they  looked  at  each  other  in  mute  wonder. 
Was  it  possible  that  not  so  many  months  ago 
they  had  waited  for  his  words  as  for  pearls  and 
rubies?  Was  this  the  child  whose  uncanny  si 
lence  had  stricken  them  with  shame  in  the  pres 
ence  of  other  young  parents?  His  voice  was  high 
and  clear;  no  door  could  shut  out  its  intonations 
He  chanted  with  a  steadily  rising  inflection  the 
saga  of  his  past  day  interwoven  with  irrelevant 
excerpts  from  the  pig-telephone  story  and  one 

207 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

other,  his  longest,  which  dealt  mysteriously  with 
a  cup  and  saucer,  a  lady  and  a  pianola :  details  of 
this  even  Aunt  Emma  avoided  determinedly. 

"At  least  he  won't  talk  all  night,"  Susy  de 
clared,  "we  sha'n't  hear  him  now  till  morning." 

But  it  was  her  cries  that  called  them  to  his 
crib  the  next  day,  and  no  chatter  of  Binks,  who 
lay  unaccountably  silent,  staring  at  them  from 
a  white  and  strangely  wrinkled  countenance,  his 
lips  evidently  sealed,  his  eyes  mere  points. 

"  Wha-what  is  it?  Oh,  Susy,  what  is  the  mat 
ter  with  him?  Look  at  his  face!  Martin  dear, 
can't  you  speak?"  wailed  Aunt  Emma. 

A  kind  of  shudder  appeared  to  stir  the  immov 
able  lines  of  his  countenance,  but  his  lips  did  not 
open,  though  his  hands  twitched  nervously. 

Tom  ran  to  the  telephone. 

"What's  the  doctor's  number?"  he  asked 
hoarsely — "  two-three-eight  ?" 

Susy  leaned  over  the  crib,  her  eyes  on  the 
child's  dreadful  wrinkled  pallor,  her  lips  working, 
her  hand  on  his  heart. 

"He-he  feels  warm,"  she  whispered,  "he  isn't 
st-stiff  at  all.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  Baby,  speak 
to  mother!  Does  it  hurt  you?" 

Belle  appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  crib,  her  hair 
hanging,  her  face  pale  with  fright. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Wilbour!     Oh,  the  face  on  him!     Is 
208 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

it  a  fit?  Shall  I  get  hot  water?  Will  you  look 
at  his  mouth,  all  tight,  like—  Did  you  feel  his 
pulse,  ma'am?" 

She  was  pushed  aside  suddenly  by  a  bare  red 
arm,  and  Norah,  with  a  hasty  glance  at  the  ter- 


AND  THEY    LISTENED   THANKFULLY    TO   THE    TALE 
OF    THE    CUP  AND    SAUCER" 


rifying  face  in  the  crib,  lifted  the  child  carefully 
and  put  him  across  her  knees  in  the  full  light 
from  the  window. 

"  For  the  love  of—      Ah,  now,  look  at  that,  will 
ye?"  she  exclaimed,  and  picking  at  the  creased, 

209 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

blue-white  skin,  she  broke  off  a  patch  of  it  as  if 
it  were  a  brittle  mask.  A  shriek  from  Susy— 
and  below  the  apparent  wound  appeared  the  pink 
warm  cheek  of  her  son.  With  a  sniff  of  disgust 
Norah  pried  off  another  section  of  the  coating, 
and  extending  it  to  the  agonized  Belle,  she  in 
quired  coldly, 

"An'  what  have  ye  been  shticken'  the  poor 
child  up  with?  How  can  he  open  his  mouth  at 
all?  Is  it  glued  him  you  have?  Get  some  hot 
water  and  soak  it  off'n  him — it  '11  tear  his  skin." 

Susy  had  sunk  upon  the  floor,  but  Aunt  Emma 
advanced. 

"What  did  you  put  on  Martin's  face,  Belle?" 
she  asked  severely. 

"Cr-cream,  ma'am,  Miss  Wilbour,  from  the 
tube,  like  I  always  do,"  the  nurse  stammered. 

A  shriek  from  Susy  turned  their  eyes  towards 
her.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  large  tube;  she 
laughed  weakly  through  a  flood  of  tears. 

"It's  photographic  paste,  Aunt  Emma,"  she 
faltered,  "  I  left  it  in  here.  It — it  was  too  thick, 
and  it  hardened  over  night!" 

"Ye  gods!"  Tom  said  solemnly,  his  knees  stiff 
ening.  "Ye  gods!" 

"I'll  be  going  down  again,  Mrs.  Wilbour," 
Norah  announced  with  dignity,  "and  I'd  give 
you  a  taste  of  advice,  Belle,  not  to  be  so  hasty 

210 


to  get  down  to  your  company   of  ev'nin's,  me 

girl." 

But  Belle  was  oblivious,  remorsefully  spong 
ing  Martin's  face  with  warm  water,  and  as  the 
accustomed  features  melted  into  view  and  the 
sealed  lips  opened  tentatively,  her  repentance  took 
an  active  and  adequate  form.  Forgetful  of  his 
relatives'  presence,  she  cooed  over  him,  even  as 
Susy  stroked  his  hands  and  Aunt  Emma  kissed 
his  bare  toes. 

"Precious  lamb,  was  the  nasty  stuff  all  off? 
Could  he  talk,  then?  Tell  Belle  a  story — do!" 

And  they  listened  thankfully,  as  to  one  re 
turned  from  the  dead,  to  the  tale  of  the  cup  and 
saucer,  the  lady  and  the  pianola ! 


X 


WHICH    DEALS  WITH    FAMILY   DISCIPLINE 


HE   hotel  at  the  head  of  the  most 
°  unpronounceable    lake    in   America 


was  in  its  usual  Saturday  evening 
throes  of  excitement :  the  steamer 
was  coming  in.  Bells  shrilled 
through  all  the  corridors,  blue-capped  officials 
leaped  witlessly  about,  the  hotel  clerk  smiled 
mechanically  and  shook  his  head  at  each  fussy 
old  lady  who  demanded  her  mail,  children  bump 
ed  into  everybody  in  sight,  and  all  able-bodied 
persons  flocked  down  to  the  wharf. 

"There  she  is!  There  she  comes!"  they  cried 
in  concert,  like  the  chorus  in  an  opera,  and  the 
canoes  and  row-boats  fluttered  excitedly  about, 
the  Yale  and  Harvard  pennants  at  their  bows 
flapping  noisily  below  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  the 
brown,  muscled  arms  of  the  boys  in  bathing- jer- 

212 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A   BABY 

seys  waving  wildly  in  the  air.  The  incoming  of 
an  ocean  liner  is  a  dull  affair  in  comparison  with 
the  Saturday  arrival  of  the  Wishemunkeewa. 

Foremost  among  the  crowd  stood  Mrs.  Thomas 
Wilbour  in  a  deliciously  ruffled  affair  of  blue  and 
white,  a  large  flat  sun-hat  tied  with  blue  mull 
strings  balanced  on  her  neat  little  head.  An  ob 
viously  unnecessary  and  proportionately  attrac 
tive  parasol  with  broad  stripes  of  the  same  cool 
colors  was  tilted  over  her  shoulder,  and  the  ef 
fect  of  these  garments,  taken  in  connection  with 
their  wearer,  was  such  as  to  elicit  appreciative 
remarks  from  more  than  one  person  on  the  rap 
idly  approaching  steamer,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  legal  proprietor  of  all  these  charms.  Mr.  Wil 
bour  was  waving  his  hat  with  enthusiasm,  and  nod 
ding  his  head  unconsciously  in  answer  to  the  voice 
behind  him : 

"  Oh,  mamma,  see  that  pretty  girl  in  blue!  Isn't 
she  sweet?  And  that  dear  little  boy  in  the  Rus 
sian  blouse — do  you  suppose  he's  her — 

But  at  that  moment  the  dear  little  boy  in  the 
Russian  blouse  emitted  a  shriek  of  joy,  and  an 
nouncing,  "  There  he  is !  There's  our  daddy !  I'm 
a-comin'  there!  Hello!  How  do  you  do?"- 
bounded  off  the  wharf  and  disappeared  from  the 
horrified  gaze  of  the  passengers,  now  not  twenty 
feet  from  the  land. 

is  213 


STOOD    MRS.    THOMAS    WILBOUU 


THE   MEMOIRS   OP   A    BABY 

A  general  exodus  from  the  canoes  and  row- 
boats  followed,  and  half  the  people  on  the  wharf, 
apparently,  plunged  into  the  waves  that  had  swal 
lowed  the  adventurous  infant,  with  the  result  that 
the  entire  scene  changed,  and,  to  quote  Mr.  Wil- 
bour,  gave  a  good  imitation  of  a  Sunday-school 
picnic  in  bathing,  trying  to  rescue  each  other. 
The  little  steamer  hissed  and  clanged  and  backed, 
the  women  shrieked,  the  men  bit  their  lips  and 
swore  softly,  and  only  when  a  brown,  dripping 
youth  held  a  small  white-coated  figure  a  foot  out 
of  the  water,  remarking  placidly,  "That's  all 
right,  fellows,  break  away!  I'm  more  used  to 
saving  him  than  the  rest  of  you,"  did  the  tumult 
begin  to  subside. 

"Thank  God  the  child  is  alive,"  observed  a 
fat  old  gentleman  in  a  white  vest,  as  a  cheerful 
voice  from  the  Russian  blouse  announced,  "Here 
I  am,  Mr.  Daddy!  How  do  you  do?  I  had  my 
hair  cut!" 

"What  must  be  the  feelings  of  his  grateful 
mother?"  continued  the  old  gentleman,  while  the 
crowd  stood  sober  around  him.  "How  can  she 
sufficiently  express — 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Waring,  it's  awfully  good 
of  you,"  came  a  sweet  voice  from  the  pier,  the 
voice  of  the  young  woman  in  blue  and  white. 
"Just  drop  him  into  the  canoe — don't  let  him 

215 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

get  your  mother  all  wet.     I'm  sorry  all  you  oth 
er  boys  got  wet.     Mr.  Waring  always  gets  him." 

The  women  on  the  deck  looked  at  each  other 
and  gasped;  the  men  stared  and  then  laughed 
nervously;  the  boat  grazed  the  pier. 

Mr.  Wilbour  hurried  down  the  gang-plank,  and 
conscious  of  the  attention  of  most  of  his  fellow- 
passengers,  confined  himself  to  a  grasp  of  his 
wife's  hand  that  rendered  it  useless  for  practical 
purposes  for  an  hour. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  added  severely  to  the 
small  moist  person  riding  up  in  triumph  on  the 
broad  shoulders  of  his  rescuer,  surrounded  by  a 
dripping  body-guard.  "You  seem  to  have  put 
your  foot  in  it,  as  usual?" 

"I  put  'em,  both  of  my  feet,  'way  deep  down 
— this  is  a  wet  lake,"  returned  the  small  person, 
while  the  crowd  roared  with  laughter,  "  and  I  had 
my  hair  cut!" 

' '  So  you  observed  on  leaving  the  water.  Does 
this,  er,  Siegfried's  -  funeral  -  march  effect  occur 
often?"  his  father  inquired,  as  Martin,  for  it  was 
no  other,  suddenly  threw  his  head  backward  tow 
ards  the  nearest  of  his  suite  and  continued  the  as 
cent  of  the  little  hill  in  the  attitude  of  a  dead  war 
rior  supported  to  the  end  by  his  faithful  retainers. 

"Three  or  four  times  a  week  he  falls  in,"  Susy 
explained  mournfully,  "and  poor  Mr.  Waring— 

216 


'AND  i  HAD  MY  HAIR  CUT!' 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"It's  awfully  good  practice,  really,  you  know," 
the  rescuer  interposed  with  a  bow  of  introduc 
tion  to  Tom,  his  hands  grasping  Martin's  ankles, 
which  curled  around  his  neck.  "I've  got  so  I 
can  save  him  right  end  up,  now,  the  first  try. 
Can't  I,  old  fellow?" 

"You  used  to  save  m'  feet  first,"  the  victim 
murmured  resentfully,  "an'  I  ate  too  much 
water." 

"Oh,  well,  the  first  time,  perhaps,"  Mr.  War 
ing  apologized,  "but  not  now,  do  I?" 

"You  squeezed  me  in  my  turn  -  stummick 
once." 

"That  was  because  your — your  trousers  were 
so  loose — I  took  up  a  handful." 

"Don't  be  so  particular,  Binks,"  Susy  observed 
absent-mindedly,  wondering  if  Tom  had  pack 
ed  her  Mexican  leather  belt  and  quite  unprepared 
for  his  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Now  jump  up  and  down  in  the  summer-house, 
dear,  and  Belle  will  be  out  with  your  things  in  a 
moment,"  she  added,  and  as  they  climbed  the 
piazza  steps  Mr.  Wilbour,  looking  back,  beheld 
his  son  the  centre  of  a  ring  of  dancing  youths 
who  cheered  the  small  figure  prancing  with  deter 
mination  in  the  middle,  and  focussed  their  shouts 
into  a  rousing  chorus  of  "John  Brown's  Body." 

"Our  little  one  seems  fairly  popular,"  he  re- 
218 


THE    MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

marked  a  few  moments  later,  when  Belle  had 
been  despatched  to  the  summer-house  with  dry 
clothes  and  Susy  was  sitting  on  his  knee,  ruffling 
his  hair  from  every  direction  towards  the  centre 
and  kissing  the  tip  of  his  nose  at  intervals. 

"Popular?  Why,  Tommy,  dearest,  I'm  ter 
ribly  afraid  he'll  be  spoiled — those  boys  simply 
worship  him.  There's  really  nothing  for  Belle 
to  do;  they  take  all  the  care  of  him.  Mr.  War 
ing  has  just  fallen  in  love  with  him — he's  teaching 
him  to  swim ;  and  Wilton  Keyes  says  he  can  al 
most  paddle  a  canoe  by  himself — think  of  that, 
and  he's  only  four!  I'm  afraid  he  isn't  strong 
enough — 

"Oh,  bosh!"  Mr.  Wilbour  interrupted  genially, 
"he's  all  right.  I  pinched  his  arm  —  the  kid's 
hard  as  nails." 

"But  Belle  gets  quite  jealous,  Tommy;  she 
says  he's  with  the  boys  all  the  time,  and  she 
hardly  sees  him  except  to  put  him  to  bed,  and 
lately  Jack  Waring' s  been  doing  that,  too." 

"That's  all  right.  Do  him  good.  He  gets 
enough  of  Belle  at  home." 

"I  suppose  so;  but  the  boys  spoil  him  more 
than  Belle  does,  really.  They  just  sit  in  a  circle 
around  him  and  he  gives  orders  to  do  this  and 
that,  and  they  simply  jump  to  do  it." 

"Ah!"  Mr.  Wilbour  exclaimed  with  a  studied 
219 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of   A    BABY 

reminiscence,  "do  they?  Well,  well!  I  seem  to 
remember  very  clearly  where  he  gets  that  little 
trick — and  they  say  there's  not  so  much  in  he 
redity,  after  all!" 

"You're  a  silly!"   said  Mrs.   Wilbour,  kissing 


"'YOU'RE   A   SILLY!'    SAID   MRS.  WILBOTR" 

the  end  of  his  nose  precipitately,  "it's  not  the 
same  thing  at  all!" 

"No?     Well,   it  works  out   the   same   in   the 
220 


THE    MbMOIRS   OF    A    BABY 

end,  apparently,  which  is  the  main  thing.  How's 
the  fishing — good?" 

"  I  don't  know,  they  don't  seem  to  fish  so 
much  this  year.  Did  you  bring  my  belt?" 

"That  black,  squashy  one?  Yes,  it's  in  my 
suit-case.  I  nearly  missed  the  train  getting  it  in, 
too." 

"Oh,  Tom  Wilbour!  I  said  the  leather  one! 
I  have  two  black  belts  here.  Didn't  you  bring 
it?" 

Tom  squirmed. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure — that  is,  I  think — " 

"Tom,  you  didn't  bring  it!" 

"Well,  Toots,  perhaps  I  didn't  exactly  bring  it, 
but  I—" 

"Tom!" 

"  That  is  to  say,  perhaps  not  entirely,  and  from 
one  point  of  view.  On  the  other  hand,  I— 

"Tom,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd!  Either 
you  brought  it  entirely  or  not  at  all,  and  I  see 
well  enough — 

"  What  a  clear  head  you  have,  anyhow,  Toots!" 
her  husband  interposed  admiringly.  "Solomon 
was  a  vacillating  old  idiot,  compared  with  you. 
Look  here,  could  you  use  some  chocolate  nou 
gat,  instead  of  the  belt?  Because  I  have  got 
that." 

"  Of  course  I  could,  Tommy  dear,  and  it  doesn't 
221 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP   A    BABY 

make  much  difference,  anyway.  Where's  the 
nougat?" 

Mr.  Wilbour  struck  an  attitude. 

"And  there  are  still  people  who  wonder  why 
I  married  you!"  he  exclaimed.  "Toots,  you're  a 
brick.  If  you'll  be  quite  good  and  still,  I'll  go 
so  far  as  to  kiss  you —  Oh,  here  you  are!  Well, 
how  do  you  do,  my  young  friend?  Now,  don't 
tell  me  again  that  you  had  your  hair  cut,  be 
cause  if  you  do  I  shall  arise  and  smite  you.  How 
long  are  you  going  to  keep  dry?" 

He  seized  his  son  in  his  arms  and  lifted  him 
to  the  ceiling,  while  Martin  squealed  joyfully 
and  clutched  the  air. 

"Mr.  Waring  turns  me  a  summerstalk  up 
there,"  he  suggested  as  he  reached  the  ground. 
"Why  don't  you,  hey?" 

"Don't  say  'hey,'  Martin,"  Susy  corrected. 

"Because  Mr.  Waring  may  be  the  half-back 
of  the  place,  but  your  poor  father  slaves  in  the 
office  of  a  soulless  corporation,  and  has  no  time 
to  develop  assorted  muscles,  that's  why." 

"Hey?" 

"Martin,  mother  told  you  not  to  say  that— 
didn't  you  hear  me?" 

"Hey?" 

Susy  sighed  and  looked  appealingly  into  space. 

"Martin,  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  do  this  just  as 
222 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

father  gets  here,  but  you'll  have  to  go  into  the 
other  room  and  shut  yourself  in.  Good-bye." 

Martin  began  playing  ostentatiously  with  a 
dog  whip. 

"Good-bye,  Martin." 

"Why,  Susy,  the  child  didn't  know  what  you 
meant — he  didn't  realize— 

"Oh,  Tom,  you  don't  know!  He  realizes  per 
fectly—  I'll  tell  you  later.  Good-bye,  Martin." 

Martin  hummed  a  tune  and  turned  his  back 
squarely  on  his  parents. 

"  Shall  I  begin  to  count,  Martin  ?  One."  Susy 
paused  a  moment,  but  with  no  effect. 

"Two!" 

Belle  looked  anxiously  at  her  charge,  who  was 
tying  the  lash  of  the  whip  around  a  chair,  utterly 
oblivious,  it  seemed,  of  the  doom  in  store  for  him. 

"Two,  Martin!" 

Susy  frowned  unhappily.  Her  horror  at  the 
dire  possibility  of  having  to  articulate  the  final 
and  fatal  syllable  was  equalled  only  by  her  son's. 
What  would  happen  in  the  event  of  her  accom 
plishing  it  was  known  to  neither  of  them,  but 
they  both  had  a  wholesome  dread  of  the  name 
less  catastrophe. 

"Th-     Martin,  hurry!     Th— " 

The  whip  clattered  to  the  floor  and  Master 
Wilbour  scuttled  hastily  to  the  adjoining  bed- 

223 


THE   MEMOIRS   Or   A    BAbY 

room,  with  a  backward  glance  as  he  cleared  the 
threshold,  as  if  to  penetrate  from  that  stronghold 
of  obedience  the  mystery  of  the  dreaded  Three. 
In  an  access  of  virtue  he  clutched  the  knob  with 
both  hands  and  closed  the  door  with  an  exem- 


HE  CLUTCHED  THE  KNOB 
WITH  BOTH  HANDS" 


plary  restraint,  leaving  Belle  with  his  parents  on 
the  other  side. 

"I'll   have   to   tell   you,    Mrs.    Wilbour,    what 
Martin's  just  been  saying  to  me,  ma'am." 

"Dear  me,  Belle,  what  is  it?" 
224 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

"He  scolded  me  awful  when  I  was  dressing 
him,  and  told  me  I  was  infernally  slow  with  his 
belt,  ma'am." 

"Why,  Belle!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  and  kicked  out,  too.  Mr.  War 
ing  laughed  right  out.  He  made  out  to  cough, 
but  Martin  knew,  all  right.  He  learns  a  lot  of 
such  talk  from  those  young  men,  Mrs.  Wilbour — 

"You  can  take  your  walk  now,  if  you  like, 
Belle,  and  Mr.  Wilbour  and  I  will  take  care  of 
Martin.  I'm  sure  Mr.  Waring  is  very  careful. 
He  picks  up  a  great  deal  from  the  boat-house 
man." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Belle  meekly,  but  she 
sniffed  audibly  as  she  went  out. 

"You  seem,"  Mr.  Wilbour  remarked  with  in 
terest,  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  nurse,  "to 
be  up  against  it,  as  it  were.  Why  don't  you 
spank  him?" 

"Why  don't  I?     Oh,  Tommy,  I  did!" 

"You  did?     When?" 

"Last  week,  and  I  simply  couldn't  write  you 
about  it.  It  was  too  dreadful." 

"Now,  Susan  Wilbour,  don't  tell  me  that  you 
wept  and  wailed  and  all  that  nonsense,  and  told 
him  it  hurt  you  far  worse,  and  a  lot  of  rot  like 
that.  I  thought  you  had  more  sense." 

"I  didn't— the  idea!  Of  course  I  didn't  like 
225 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

to  do  it,  and  you  may  do  it  yourself  after  this, 
if  you  think  it's  so  easy!  As  far  as  that  goes,  it 
did  hurt  me  worse.  But  I  didn't  tell  him  so — 
at  least,  not  exactly  that — 

1 '  Toots,  Toots !  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  Own 
up,  now." 

"Well,  I  just  said  that  I'd  far  rather  he  had 
to  spank  me,  that's  all." 

Mr.  Wilbour  groaned. 

"Another  bright  dream  gone!"  he  cried,  look 
ing  reproachfully  at  his  wife.  "  I  hoped  you 
would  be  above  it.  All  my  life  I  have  planned 
to  marry  a  girl  who  would  be  above  it.  The 
real  reason  I  took  you,  Toots,  out  of  the  throng 
that  pressed  about  me — 

"The  throng  that— what?" 

"The  bevy  of  youth  and  beauty  that  elbowed 
around  me,"  Mr.  Wilbour  continued  placidly, 
"yes,  exactly.  The  real  reason,  I  say,  why  I 
selected  you  was  as  follows." 

"  You  selected  me!" 

"  Precisely,  7  selected  you.  Was  it  your  idea 
that  I  secretly  preferred  another  and  that  Aunt 
Emma  drove  me  to  an  unhappy  marriage?" 

"Oh,  please,  Tommy!" 

"  Don't  be  a  darling  idiot — you  know  perfectly 
well.  ...  As  I  say,  the  reason  was  this.  I  wanted 
to  marry  a  girl  who,  when  Martin  reached  the 

226 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

age  of — of  active  discipline,  would  fail  to  tell  him 
that  it  hurt  her  worse,  or  words  to  that  effect." 

"  But  I  didn't  say  that,  Tom." 

"Or  words  to  that  effect,"  her  husband  •  re 
peated  firmly.  "And  now  you  have  done  it,  and 
all  has  been  in  vain.  Well,  never  mind ;  go  on. 
What  happened  afterwards?" 

"Why,  after  it  was  all  over  and  I  left  him 
alone — 

"Wait  a  moment.  What  did  you  spank  him 
with?" 

"My  slipper — I  thought  he'd  feel  worse  about 
it,  maybe." 

"What  kind  of  a  slipper?" 

"My  red  one." 

"  Not  that  little  Japanese  thing?     Good  Lord!" 

"It  did  hurt,  just  the  same." 

"  It  must  have,  terribly.  Why  didn't  you 
take  a  powder-puff?" 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Tom." 

"  I  never  was  whaled  with  it,  if  that's  what 
you  mean,  but  I  have  a  sort  of  idea — 

"  I  tried  it  on  my -hand,  first,  and  I  know." 

"My  dearest,  it  probably  made  the  dreaded 
knout  and  the  cat-o' -nine-tails  a  summer  zephyr, 
by  comparison.  What  did  the  kid  say?" 

"He  was  quite  surprised,  at  first;  I  don't 
think  he  believed  I'd  do  it  at  all." 

227 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

' '  Of  course  not !     Why  should  he  ?' ' 

"Tommy,  I  am  really  quite  severe  with  him, 
sometimes — you  know  it." 

"  Um,  we'll  pass  that  by.     Did  he  yell?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  He  cried,  because  his  face  was 
all  covered  with  tears,  afterwards,  but  he  didn't 
wipe  them  off — he  just  gulped." 

"Spunky  little  devil!" 

"Then  he  walked  off  into  Belle's  room  —  he 
sleeps  there,  you  know — and  pretended  nothing 
had  happened.  She  wasn't  there — she  wouldn't 
stay  where  she  could  hear  it :  she  went  off  in  the 
grove  and  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands,  she 
said." 

"For  heaven's  sake!" 

"Well,  she  felt  awfully.  'It's  just  begun,  Mrs. 
Wilbour,  it's  just  begun,'  she  said  to  me,  'and 
now  who  knows  what  may  happen  any  day?' ' 

"What's  the  matter  with  her,  anyway?" 

"Why,  nothing,  dearest.  Don't  you  see  what 
she  meant?" 

"Well,  no,  I  can't  say  I  do.  Does  she  mean 
he  may  rob  the  bank  or  go  after  me  with  an  axe?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"The  kid's  got  to  get  licked,  you  know,  some 
day." 

"  I  suppose  so.  So  I  looked  in  the  glass — he 
didn't  know  I  could  see  him  that  way — and  when 

228 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

he  thought  he  was  all  alone  he  wiped  his  face  on 
the  towel.  And  then  he  went  out  to  find  Belle, 
and  what  do  you  think  he  said  to  her?" 

"Told  her  he  hadn't  been  licked?" 

"No;  I  think  he  would  have  liked  to,  but  he 
knew  she  knew.  He  told  her  he'd  like  her  to 
write  a  letter  to  you  for  him.  And  she  asked 
him  why  he  didn't  put  a  postscript  to  my  letter, 
the  way  he  usually  does,  but  he  said  no,  he  wanted 
a  special  letter.  She  asked  him  what  he  wanted 
to  say,  and  he  said  to  tell  you  to  bring  a  bottle  of 
witch-hazel  up  with  you  when  you  came,  and 
when  she  asked  him  what  for,  he  said,  '  So  I  can 
have  it  ready  if  this  is  going  to  happen  to  me 
often!'" 

"Not  really,  Toots!" 

"That's  what  Belle  said,  and  she  never  could 
make  it  up,  Tom." 

"My  country!" 

"And  she  told  him  that  I'd  probably  give  him 
some,  if  he  asked  for  it,  just  as  when  he  falls 
down  and  barks  his  knee  or  something  bites  him ; 
but  he  said  no,  he  thought  maybe  I  wouldn't, 
and  he'd  better  have  a  bottle  of  his  own!" 

Mr.  Wilbour  shook  his  head  solemnlv. 

j 

"This  is  one  too  many  for  me,"  he  admitted. 
"  And  do  you  know  what  I  thought  of,  Tommy? 
I  remembered  it  directly.     You  know  Aunt  Emma 
io  229 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

told  me  about  the  time  you  stole  the  cold  tur 
key  out  of  the  refrigerator,  and  they  had  to  have . 
something  canned  when  there  was  company  for 
supper,  and  she  made  you  learn  the  long  Psalm?" 

"The  one  that  tells,  'I  go  about  roaring  all 
the  day  long'?  You  bet  I  remember  it!" 

"And  you  learned  it  so  quickly,  she  was  afraid 
it  wasn't  going  to  be  punishment  enough,  and  so 
she  gave  you  another,  and  you  told  her  that  was 
a  very  poor  way  to  bring  up  a  child,  to  make 
him  hate  the  Bible,  because  when  he  grew  up 
he  would  never  read  it?" 

Mr.  Wilbour  chuckled. 

"That  was  the  time  I  had  her,"  he  remarked. 
"She  was  scared  stiff." 

"And  then  she  got  her  brother  to  come  over 
and  whip  you,  because  she  thought  that  eight 
years  old  was  too  big  for  a  woman  to  whip,  and 
he  whipped  you — 

"He  did  that,"  Tom  agreed,  "he  did  it  to  a 
finish.  I  always  had  a  respect  for  Uncle  Ed 
till  the  day  he  died." 

"And  then  some  boys  happened  to  come  over 
to  play  with  you,  and  you  went  right  out  just  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  and  when  they  asked, 
'What  shall  we  play?'  you  said,  'I  don't  care  a 
darn,  as  long  as  there's  no  sitting  down  in  it!' ' 

"Aunt  Em  will  never  forget  that — never!" 
230 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

At  this  point  a  faint,  polite  knock  at  the  bed 
room  door  distracted  their  attention  from  these 
profitable  reminiscences. 

"Who  is  there?"  Susy  demanded  instantly. 

"Me,"  a  subdued  voice  replied. 

"Do  you  want  anything?" 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  voice. 

"What  is  it  you  want?" 

A  dead  silence  followed.  Susy's  expression 
indicated  that  the  conduct  of  this  conversation 
was  not  altogether  unfamiliar,  that  it  was,  indeed, 
more  in  the  nature  of  a  formula. 

"Did  you  want  anything?"  she  repeated  with 
an  impersonal  courtesy,  so  far  as  anything  that 
Susy  did  could  be  called  impersonal. 

A  squirming  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  was 
indicated  by  the  indecisive  sliding  of  the  knob. 
Finally  the  voice,  which  was  apparently  pledged 
to  the  monosyllable,  announced  faintly, 

"No." 

"Oh,  very  well.     I  thought  perhaps  you  did." 

The  silence  in  the  other  room  became  distinct 
ly  oppressive.  Tom  waited  with  interest. 

"Does  he  get  any  dinner?"  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  Tom,  of  course !     I  can't  starve  the  child !" 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  he  admitted. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  about  my  father?  Grand 
father  said  he'd  have  to  stop  just  where  he  was, 

231 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

once,  and  apologize,  and  it  happened  to  be  the 
cellar  stairs.  So  he  sat  there  and  stuck  it  out. 
And  the  old  gentleman  wouldn't  let  up  on  him, 
and  he  sat  there  two  days." 

"Tom!" 

"And  fainted  away  at  the  end  of  the  second. 
How's  that?" 

"  Fainted  away?" 

"Just  so.     From  lack  of  food." 

"Oh,  Tom,  how -- how  awful!  How —  I'm 
going  to  have  them  send  Martin's  supper  up  now." 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  exactly  at  the  uncon 
scious  point,  my  dear.  He's  probably  good  for 
half  an  hour,  anyway." 

But  so  long  a  test  was  not  necessary,  for  just 
then  another  knock  was  heard. 

"Who  is  there?"  Susy  inquired. 

"Your  de-ar  little  boy!"  came  in  melting  tones 
from  beyond  the  door.  Susy  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"What  does  he  want?"  she  asked,  rising  and 
making  for  the  voice. 

"  He's  going  to  be  good." 

"Does  he  want  to  say  he's  sorry?" 

"I — I  guess  so,"  and  the  door  opened  an  inch. 

' '  Wait !     Are  you  sure  ?' ' 

"  Yes !"  cooed  the  voice,  and  the  prodigal  entered 
dramatically  and  leaped  into  his  mother's  arms. 

232 


THE    MEMOIRS    OT    A    BABY 

"It's  certainly  very  impressive  —  very,"  Mr. 
Wilbour  remarked.  "You  should  have  been  a 
warden  or  a  sheriff  or  something  of  that  sort, 
Toots,  something  that  requires  a  heart  of  stone, 
you  know." 

And  the  reunited  family  unpacked  the  new 
comer's  trunk  in  a  gratifying  harmony. 

But  Tom  was  doomed  to  disillusionment,  if  he 
had  counted  on  a  continuation  of  his  last  year's 
vacation,  when  a  word  had  sufficed  to  silence  his 
son's  exuberance  and  Belle's  society  had  con 
tented  her  charge  indefinitely.  The  joy  of  talk 
ing  to  himself  had  palled  when  once  he  knew  the 
stimulus  of  a  willing  audience  of  strangers,  and 
his  social  instincts  seemed  likely  to  swamp  the 
boat,  to  use  his  father's  metaphor. 

"Am  I  to  be  known  as  the  father  of  Binks 
the  Babbler?"  he  demanded  sternly.  "Are  you 
willing,  Susy,  to  go  down  to  posterity  as  the 
parent  of  Martin  the  Monologuist?  I  think  not. 
Not  if  I  can  help  it.  If  you  say  another  word, 
my  sweet  child,  till  we  round  that  point,  I'll 
leave  the  baby  on  the  shore,  as  the  song  says,  to 
morrow." 

They  were  rowing  down  the  lake ;  Tom  in  busi 
ness-like  knickerbockers  at  the  oars,  Susy  in  trim 
white  duck,  with  a  novel  and  the  indispensable 
parasol,  in  the  stern,  and  Martin  in  a  forethought- 

234 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

ful  bathing-suit  and  jersey  between  her  knees. 
Tom  feathered  his  oars  scientifically  and  con 
gratulated  himself  audibly  on  having  rewound 
his  reel  the  night  before. 

Susy  leaned  back  contentedly,  the  unopened 
book  on  her  lap,  her  eyes  apparently  on  the  dis 
tant  shore  line,  but  conscious  in  reality  of  every 
movement  of  the  muscular  arms  in  front  of  her. 
The  two  she  loved  best  in  the  world  were  within 
reach  of  her  hand,  she  was  not  freckling  this 
summer,  and  the  house  would  be  entirely  re- 
papered  when  they  got  back.  She  was  perfectly 
happy. 

Martin,  forbidden  to  talk  to  anything  in  sight, 
murmured  a  greeting  to  the  fish  his  father  in 
tended  to  catch,  and  endeavored  to  rock  the  boat 
furtively.  The  water  clucked  and  chuckled  at 
the  bow  as  they  cut  across  the  wind;  Tom's 
stroke  had  strengthened  wonderfully  in  a  short 
time. 

Presently  he  threw  out  the  line  in  a  quiet 
cove.  "  Now,  here's  where  we  ought  to  get  one," 
he  announced,  "right  around  this  stump." 

"Do  they  like  stumps?"  Susy  inquired  lazily. 
"Why?" 

Tom  was  scowling  over  his  rod  and  made  no 
answer,  but  Martin  tmdertook  the  explanation. 

"  I  love  stumps,  too,"  he  burst  forth.     "  I  love 

235 


THE    MEMOIRS    OT    A    BABY 

stumps  an'  black  bass  an'  strobbry  ice-cream  an' 
my  Heav'nly  Father!  An'  I — " 

"Binks!" 

"An'  the  fish  will  bite  an'  bite  an'  bite  your 
head  off,  an'  where'll  you  be  then?"  he  demanded, 
springing  up  suddenly  and  bumping  his  mother's 
chin  till  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  Here,  get  off  that  fly!  You'll  hook  yourself! 
Get  off,  I  tell  you!  Oh,  heavens!  sit  still  just 
where  you  are!  You're  all  tied  up  in  that  line! 
Get  that  fly  out  of  his  sleeve,  will  you,  Susy?" 

11  Fly  away  home;  your  house  's  on  fire  'n'  y'r 
childrens  are  gone,"  Martin  continued  dreamily. 
"There's  a  gull-bird  an'  a  hawk-bird  an'  a  eagle- 
bird,  an'  they  all  love  me!" 

"Where?"  Tom  cried  hastily,  while  the  reel 
ran  rapidly  out  as  his  hand  slipped. 

"I  don't  know;  somewhere,  I  guess,"  Binks 
replied  with  nonchalance.  "  Did  you  see  any, 
daddy?" 

Susy  giggled  at  her  husband's  disgusted  snort 
and  held  her  son  quiet  while  Tom  reeled  in  in  dig 
nified  silence. 

But  the  bass  failed  to  rally  around  him  with 
the  unanimity  he  had  hoped  for,  and  his  spirits 
were  not  raised  by  his  son's  cheerful  comments  on 
that  fact. 

"Mr.  Waring  gets  eight  or  nine  or  six  bass-fish, 
236 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

don't  he,  muvver?  They  jump  in  the  boat  and 
then  they  sit  down  and  hold  their  mouth  apart, 
don't  they?  I  had  one  in  my  lap,  didn't  I?  I 
gave  it  a  sweet,  swee-et  kiss,  didn't  I  ?  On  its 
back.  I  wish  Mr.  Waring  was  here — he'd  get  me 
a  bass-fish!" 

"I'll  get  you  something  you  won't  like,  if  you 
don't  stop  rocking  the  boat,"  his  father  stated 
succinctly.  "  Look  here,  Toots,  do  you  allow 
him  to  act  this  way  in  a  boat?  That's  all  wrong. 
He  behaved  himself  better  in  one  last  year.  I'll 
have  to  speak  to  those  boys  about  it — it's  dan 
gerous.*' 

"  Why,  I'm  right  here,  Tom." 

"That's  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It's  no  joke 
to  spill  three  people  into  the  water,  I  can  tell  you. 
The  first  thing  to  learn  about  a  boat  is  to — 

"Is  to  sit  on  the  floor!"  screamed  Martin  in  an 
unintelligible  spasm  of  naughtiness,  jumping  with 
both  feet  into  the  middle  of  the  boat  and  falling 
heavily  on  the  rod,  which  snapped  and  cracked 
at  the  second  joint. 

Tom  hastily  righted  the  boat,  with  set  teeth. 

"  Sit  just  where  you  are  and  don't  move  till  we 
get  home,"  he  commanded  sternly,  "and  I'll  at 
tend  to  your  case  there.  Susy,  be  quiet." 

They  sped  along  in  silence,  the  mute  offender 
cowering  in  the  middle  between  his  father's  feet, 

237 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

the  demon  driven  out  of  him  by  the  very  force  of 
his  sudden  wickedness. 

In  silence  Mr.  Wilbour  fastened  the  boat,  in 
silence  he  loaded  the  cushions  in  one  arm  and 


"'IS    TO    SIT    ON    THE    FLOOR,'    SCREAMED    MARTIN*' 

seized  his  son's  reluctant  hand,  in  silence  he 
walked  up  the  hill. 

"Tom,  are  you  going  to — to — 

"  I  am  going  to  give  him  a  good  whipping,  yes," 
he  answered  shortly.  "He  might  have  drowned 
us  all.  This  thing  has  got  to  be  settled  once  for 
all,  Susy,  and  sitting  in  Belle's  room  for  ten  min 
utes  isn't  going  to  do  it.  He  knows  perfectly 
well  how  wrong  it  was.  Come  with  me,  Martin." 

238 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of    A    BABY 

"Oh,  Tom,  you'll  be  careful—" 

"I  think  you  can  trust  me,  Susy." 

"You  won't  let  me?" 

"Certainly  -not." 

Susy  fled  to  her  room  and  waited  in  terrified 
suspense,  her  head  buried  in  the  pillows.  Ten 
minutes  went  by,  fifteen — was  he  whipping  him 
all  this  time?  Twenty  minutes. 

"Oh,  Tom,  Tom,  how  can  you?"  she  wept. 

The  door  opened  and  her  husband  appeared, 
alone,  with  a  strange  expression  of  countenance. 

"Where  is  he?     Oh,  Tom,  where  is  he?" 

"He  is  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  hotel 
clerk,  I  believe." 

"Did  you  hurt  him?  Tom,  what  did  you  do 
it  with — a  stick?" 

"No." 

"A— a  strap?" 

"Don't  be  silly.     Of  course  not." 

"Did  he  cry  hard?" 

"No." 

"Why — then — what  happened,   Tom?" 

Mr.  Wilbour  lit  a  cigarette  with  care,  and  sat 
down  before  replying. 

"What  happened?"  he  repeated,  "what  hap 
pened?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  took  that  little 
scoundrel  out  in  the  grove  and  I  told  him  that 
since  he  wras  old  enough  to  be  as  bad  as  that  he 

239 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

was  old  enough  to  get  a  good  licking,  and  I  was 
going  to  give  it  to  him.  I  told  him  how  danger 
ous  it  was  to  jump  that  way,  and  how  he  might 
have  drowned  us  all,  and  I  reminded  him  that 
he  knew  all  that  perfectly  well — knew  it  last  year, 
in  fact.  Then  I  took  a  little  stick  I'd  picked  up 
—I  took  it  more  to  impress  him  than  anything 
else;  a  little  curved-up  stick  like  a  small  barrel 
hoop." 

Here  Tom  paused  and  puffed  violently  at  his 
cigarette. 

"Well?"  Susy  cried  breathlessly,  "well?" 

"  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  whip  him  with  this, 
the  way  we  whipped  the  pup  when  he'd  been 
naughty.  That  was  to  make  him  ashamed  of  him 
self." 

"Well?"  Susy  cried  again. 

"Well,  that's  all." 

"That's  all?     Didn't  you  go  on?" 

"No.     He  said  it  wouldn't  work." 

"  He  said —  Tom  Wilbour,  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"What  I  say.  He  gave  me  a  mathematical 
demonstration . 

"'You'd  better  get  another  spanker,'  he  said. 

"'What  d'  you  mean?'  said  I. 

"  '  You  can't  spank  with  that,'  says  he. 

"'Why  not?'  said  I. 

240 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"'Because,'  says  he,  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  on 
ice,  'if  you  spank  with  it  up  side  down  you 
won't  hurt  me  much,  and  if  you  spank  with  it 


"MARTIN  CONVERSED  PLEASANTLY  WITH  THE  HOTEL  CLERK" 

down  side  up  you'll  hit  your  own  nose.     That's 
what    you    told    Belle   when    she    spanked    the 

241 


THE    MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

puppy.     You  have  to  have  a  straight  stick  to 
spank  with!' 

"I  tell  you,  Sue,  I  felt  queer.  I  just  stared 
at  him.  Finally  I  managed  to  say,  'Oh,  you 
think  so,  do  you?' 

"'Yes,'  says  he,  'I  do.  Here's  the  kind  of  a 
stick  to  spank  with!'  and  he  picked  one  up  and 
handed  it  to  me.  Actually. 

"Well,  that  let  me  out,  you  know.  That 
really  was  a  little  too  much." 

Here  Mr.  Wilbour  relit  the  cigarette,  which 
had  gone  out,  and  puffed  again. 

"How — how  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  good  heavens,  Toots,  how  can  I  whip 
a  boy  who  picks  me  out  a  stick  to  do  it  with, 
and  throws  in  a  little  advice,  with  his  compli 
ments?  If  you  want  to,  you  can,  that's  all.  I 
told  him  that  he  couldn't  go  out  in  a  boat  again 
for  a  week,  and  not  with  you  and  me  again  this 
summer.  I  didn't  keep  him  out  altogether,  be 
cause  I  want  him  to  get  used  to  a  canoe.  So 
don't  let's  talk  any  more  about  it.  Come  on 
out  to  the  court  —  they're  playing  the  men's 
doubles." 

Mrs.  Wilbour  drew  a  long  breath  and  flashed 
a  curious  little  glance  at  her  husband. 

"Then  you  didn't  whip  him  at  all?"  she  asked 
softly. 

242 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"No,"  said  her  husband,  looking  persistently 
away  from  her,  "  I  didn't.  Come  on." 

And  down  in  the  great  open  hall  Martin  con 
versed  pleasantly  with  the  hotel  clerk. 


XI 


WHICH   DEALS  WITH  THE  ABDICATION  OF  BINKS 


r,  lying  near  the  fire  and  drows 
ing  deliciously,  had  long  been 
conscious  of  an  undercurrent  of 
vague  sadness  in  her  thoughts,  a 
(IJ^isPilPlIiti  confused  sensation  as  of  something 
gloomy  and  regretful.  Somebody  was  mourn 
ing,  unhappy,  insistent — was  she  dreaming?  If 
so,  she  must  wake  herself  and  break  the  spell; 
she  struggled  a  moment  and  her  thoughts  grew 
clearer.  There  was  the  fire,  here  was  her  book, 
it  was  four  o'clock — and  yet  the  mournful  sound 
haunted  her.  Louder  and  clearer  it  grew  as  she 
listened,  and  divided  itself  into  two  elements: 
one,  some  instrument,  blowing  at  regular  inter 
vals  a  strange,  muted  blast,  the  other  a  human 
voice,  of  a  peculiar  nasal  quality,  intoning  in 
heavily  accented  measure  a  monotonous  kind 

244 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

of  tuneless  chant.  The  voice  had  a  certain  fa 
miliarity  about  it,  but— 

"Belle,"  she  cried  nervously,  "what  is  that 
noise?" 

"What  noise,  Mrs.  Wilbour?  I  don't  hear 
nothing." 

"Nonsense,  Belle!  I  don't  suppose  I  am  out 
of  my  head!  Listen.  ..." 

"Oh!  that's  Martin,  Mrs.  Wilbour;  he's  having 
a  funeral." 

"A  funeral?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  The  other  goldfish  died  this 
noon,  and  he's  kind  of  celebrating  it.  I'll  open 
the  door  and  you  11  see." 

Through  the  open  door  the  chant  shrilled 
clearly;  words  were  now  audible: 

"JAMES  and  HATTIE  are  DEAD,  dead,  dead, 
JAMES  and  HATTIE  are  DEAD!" 

A  long,  weird  blast  on  the  instrument,  which 
now  suggested  a  comb  covered  with  tissue-pa 
per,  followed;  the  rhythmic  tramp  of  feet  con 
tinued  the  accent.  Then  the  chant  again: 

"JAMES  and  HATTIE  are  DEAD,  dead,  dead, 
JAMES  and  HATTIE  are  DEAD!" 

"What  is  he  doing,  Belle?" 
"  I'll  go  and  see,  ma'am,"  and  Belle  tiptoed 
246 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

across  the  hall  and  half-way  down  the  stairs. 
A  moment  she  hung  there,  staring  into  the  din 
ing-room,  then  returned  wide-eyed. 

"He's   got  his   pajamas   on   over  his   clothes, 
Mrs.  Wilbour,  and  Mr.  Wilbour's  high  hat,  and 


"'JAMES  AND  HATTIE  ARE  DEAD,  DEAD,  DEAD!'" 

that  long  mournin'  veil  that  Miss  Emma  had  on 
for  her  brother's  funeral  pinned  to  the  front  of 
it  so's  you  can't  see  his  face  at  all,  ma'am.  He 
does  look  awful.  And  the  way  he  says  'dead, 

247 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP   A    BABY 

dead,  dead'!  He's  got  the  waste-basket  out  of 
the  libr'y  on  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  he  just 
walks  round  and  round  it.  Hear  him,  now!" 

"  They  are  dead,  they  are  dead,  they  are  dead, 
They  will  never  come  back  any  more ! 
First  James  died,  and  came  up  to  the  top, 
And  then  Hattie  died  and  now  they  are  in  heaven, 
And  Gad  is  patting  their  backs!" 

"Oh/  make  him  stop,  Belle!  Send  him  up 
here.  How  can  he  think  of  such  things?" 

A/ rapid  descent  of  the  stairs,  a  suddenly  in 
terrupted  flourish  on  the  comb,  a  hasty  whispered 
colloquy,  ending,  "  Don't  you  frighten  your  moth 
er,  now,  with  any  more  foolishness!"  and  Master 
Wilbour  entered  the  room,  divested  of  the  trap 
pings  of  his  woe. 

"What  were  you  doing,  Martin  dear?"  Susy 
asked  him,  clutching  his  warm  little  hands  in  her 
own  and  kissing  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  singing  a  little  hymn  to  James 
and  Hattie — poor  Hattie  died  while  we  were  eat 
ing  our  dinner.  Didn't  you  know?  I  was  go 
ing  to  keep  'em  in  my  drawer,  but  Belle  took  'em 
out.  Belle  don't  like  'em  when  they're  dead." 

"Oh,  Martin,  of  course  not!" 

"Don't  you,  either?  I  don't  mind  'em.  She 
threw  Hattie  in  the  waste-basket.  They  just 

248 


THE   MEMOIRS   tf   A    IABY 

turn  over  and  come  up  to  the  top,  all  of  a  sudden. 
That's  all.     Then  are  they  in  heaven?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear.     Maybe." 

"Why  don't  you  know?  Didn't  you  ever  see 
any  there?  When  I  was  there  I  saw  lots  of  'em. 
God  kept  'em  in  the  bath-tub.  He — 

"Darling,  what  makes  you  talk  like  that? 
You  know  it  isn't  so." 

"Oh,  well,  I  wish  I  had  a  goat,  like  the  Park! 
Why  don't  we  have  a  goat?" 

"  Next  year,  Binks,  you  know.  Father  will  get 
one  next  summer,  and  you'll  have  it  in  the  coun 
try.  Would  you  rather  have  a  goat  than  any 
thing  else,  dear?" 

"Yes.     Wouldn't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  I'd  rather  have — 
something  else." 

"What?" 

Susy  kissed  him  again,  and  held  him  close  to  her. 

"Would  you  like  a  little  sister — all  your  own, 
to  play  with  and  love — would  you,  darling?" 

"No,"  said  her  son  promptly,  "I  wouldn't. 
Would  you?" 

Susy  drew  back,  startled  and  incredulous. 
"Why,  Martin,  what  do  you  mean?  You 
wouldn't  like  a  dear  little  baby  sister,  to  live 
with  us  all  the  while?  Mine  and  yours  and 
dad's?" 

249 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF   A    BABY 

"What  do  you  want  a  baby  sister  for?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  my  sister,  Binks,"  shaking 
him  gently,  as  if  to  settle  his  mind,  "  it  would 
be  yours.  It  would  be —  Oh,  don't  you  see, 
Binks?  Like  Dorothy  and  Willie  Sears." 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  be  your  sister?    You  said  so." 

"Oh,  Binks,  how  silly  you  are!  She  wouldn't 
be  my  sister  any  more  than  you're  my  brother." 

"But  I  am  your  brother,"  said  Martin  flatly, 
pulling  up  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  sticking 
out  his  tongue  with  a  too-successful  imitation 
of  a  boy  he  had  seen  in  the  street. 

"  Please  get  down  from  the  sofa,  Martin.  You 
are  very  silly  and  very  naughty,  when  I  told  you 
not  to  do  that.  I  think  it  is  time  you  had  your 
supper." 

Realizing  that  it  was  time,  at  any  rate,  to 
change  his  policy,  her  son  here  crept  closer  to  her, 
and  burrowing  his  head  under  her  chin,  murmured 
that  he  loved  her.  For  a  moment  Susy  hardened 
her  heart  and  withstood  him. 

"  Oh  rio,  you  don't.  You  only  want  a  goat. 
You  don't  want  to  do  as  I  say — you  don't  really 
love  me." 

He  snuggled  closer  into  her  neck  and  patted 
her  encouragingly.  Like  most  of  his  sex,  he  had 
early  learned  that  this  sort  of  remark  called  for 
no  logical  reply,  no  supporting  evidence;  simple 

250 


THE    MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

and  continuous  asseveration  was  more  than  suf 
ficient. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do,"  he  cooed,  "  I  love  you  de-arly !" 

His  mother  melted. 

"Do  you,  dearest?  And  so  do  I  love  you!" 
she  assured  him.  "And — have  I  been  a  good 
mother  to  you,  do  you  think,  Binks  darling?" 

"Yes,  you've  been  pretty  good,"  he  assented, 
and  then,  instinctively  feeling  that  the  ridiculous 
creature  was  hurt,  he  added  magnanimously, 
" you  are  the  best  of  all  my  mothers!" 

"  Of  all  your  mothers?"  she  faltered. 

"The  best  one  I  ever  had,"  he  explained  im 
patiently.  "  None  of  the  rest  of  'em  was  so  pret 
ty  good!" 

"When  he  talks  like  that,  Tommy,  he  makes 
me  so  uneasy.  What  does  he  mean?"  Susy  in 
quired  after  dinner. 

"Lord  knows,"  her  husband  answered  philo 
sophically.  "It's  a  pity  Aunt  Em  has  dropped 
her  clubs;  she'd  have  stuff  enough  to  turn  the 
other  women  green  with  envy.  Remember  how 
she  used  to  complain  because  the  kid  didn't  make 
enough  startling  remarks?" 

"She  doesn't  any  more.  I  told  her  what  he 
said  this  afternoon,  and  she  said  it  was  a  clear 
proof  of — what  is  that  thing  she  believes  in,  Tom 
— not  co-education?" 

252 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Tom  was  helplessly  silent. 

"Co-operation?"  Susy  suggested. 

"  My  dear  girl,  how  do  I  know?  Co-education 
is  when  the  girls  go  out  West  to  school  and  get 
engaged,  isn't  it?  And  co-operation  makes  you 
all  wear  the  same  cuffs  and  all  have  chops  on 
Tuesday,  so  you  get  them  cheaper,  somehow. 
Upton  got  into  a  scheme  like  that  once,  and  he 
said  it  made  him  sick  to  think  that  every  family 
in  the  apartment  was  eating  cauliflower  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  so  he  quit.  Do  you  mean  that?" 

"N-no,  I  don't  think  so.  It's  when  you  be 
lieve  that  you  were  somebody  else.  Don't  you 
remember  the  call  Aunt  Emma  made,  and  there 
were  three  other  women  there,  and  they  all  said 
they  used  to  be  Mary  Queen  of  Scots?  And 
they  were  so  cross  with  each  other?" 

"  By  George!  yes.  That  beats  anything  I  ever 
heard  in  a  long  and  ill-spent  life!  You  mean 
reincarnation,  my  poor  child." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say — reincarnation.  You 
see,  if  Binks  really  remembers — 

"Bosh  and  nonsense!  Toots,  you  wander  in 
your  blessed  mind.  The  kid  doesn't  mean  any 
thing — you  know  that." 

"Well,  but,  Tommy—" 

"  But  nothing.  Now  look  here.  I  suppose 
you  think  that  young  William  Sears  meant  what 

253 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

he  said  when  he  gave  that  little  romance  about 
his  eye?" 

"What  eye?" 

"Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you  that?  Sears  told  us  last 
week  or  so.  It  seems  that  young  William  and 
his  sister  were  rowing  about  the  beauty  of  their 
father — which  alone  shows  that  they  inherit  his 
weak  mind." 

"Tom!" 

"As  I  say.  .  .  .  Well,  we'll  pass  that  by. 
Dorothy  said  that  he  was  not  so  good-looking  as 
God,  but  young  William  said  he  was.  They  had 
it  hammer  and  tongs  for  a  while,  and  finally 
Dorothy,  with  that  true  feeling  for  logic  dis 
played  by  all  your  charming  sex,  reminded 
young  William  that  he'd  never  seen  God  and 
didn't  know  whether  he  was  handsome  or  not. 

"'Oh  yes,  I  have,'  says  he.  'I  know  he's 
handsome,  because  when  he  put  in  my  other 
eye  I  got  a  good  look  at  him!' 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Is  it  nec 
essarily  true?" 

"Why,  no,  I  suppose  not." 

"Very  well,  then  don't  bother  about  Binks. 
When  you  come  to  that,  why  is  it  necessary  that 
what  a  child  says  should  mean  anything?" 

"  Because,  Tom,"  Aunt  Emma  remarked  as  she 
entered  the  room,  "a  child,  like  the  rest  of  us, 

254 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF    A    BABY 

has  a  soul,  and  that  soul  is  constantly  moving 
on—" 

"Like  John  Brown's,"  her  nephew  murmured 
irreverently.  "I  know.  But  I  don't  exactly 
mean  that;  I  mean  why  should  you  think  that 
everything  a  child  says  necessarily  means  some 
thing?  We  don't  always  drop  pearls  and  dia 
monds  whenever  we  open  our  mouths,  do  we? 
Don't  we  ever  talk  nonsense  and  just  burble 
along  to  fill  up  the  time?" 

"  Some  of  us  certainly  do  a  great  deal  of  that," 
Aunt  Emma  agreed  politely. 

"Oh,  well,  that's  all  right.  You  know  what 
I  mean.  And  sometimes  it  may  turn  out  to  be 
quite  deep,  you  know.  It  often  does  that  with 
me,"  he  added  modestly. 

An  unstimulating  silence  followed  this  remark, 
but  Mr.  Wilbour  pursued  his  theme  unabashed. 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  that  that's  the  way  Shake 
speare,  or  the  other  gentleman  of  the  same  name, 
got  off  some  of  his  best  things — they  meant  a  lot 
more  after  he'd  said  'em  than  they  did  before. 
I  mean,  than  he  meant,  before  he  said  'em.  So 
you  see—  What  was  it  we  were  talking  about?" 

"Good  heavens,  Tommy,  if  you  don't  know, 
do  you  suppose  we  do?  I'd  like  to  sit  on  your 
lap." 

"The  pleasure  is  mine,"  Mr.  Wilbour  respond  - 
255 


THE    MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

ed  gallantly,  and  Aunt  Emma,  who  saw  that 
Susy's  spirits  were  for  some  reason  depressed, 
tactfully  took  her  sewing,  which  at  this  time 
consisted  chiefly  of  embroidered  white  flannel, 
into  another  room. 

"He  doesn't  want  another,  Tommy,"  Mrs. 
Wilbour  declared  mournfully. 

Tom  blinked  rapidly  and  expressed  with  his 
eyebrows  Herculean  efforts  to  grasp  his  wife's 
meaning.  As  she  paused,  evidently  for  a  reply, 
he  ventured  an, 

"Oh!" 

"No,  not  at  all.  Isn't  it  dreadful?  He  asked 
me  what  I  wanted  one  for!" 

Mr.  Wilbour  glanced  wildly  around  the  room 
and  committed  himself  utterly  by  a  deceitful, 

"The  idea!" 

"I  thought  they  always  liked  them,"  Susy 
continued  unhappily.  "Wouldn't  it  be  awful  if 
he  should  grow  up  to  hate  her!" 

Mr.  Wilbour  felt  the  uselessness  of  a  prolonged 
conversation  along  these  lines  and  threw  up  his 
hands,  to  employ  a  metaphor. 

"My  darling  girl,  I  feel  perfectly  sure  you're 
right,  whatever  it  is,  but  I  haven't  the  dimmest 
idea  what  you're  talking  about,"  he  owned. 

Susy  sighed. 

"Why,  Tom  dear,  what  could  I  be  talking 
256 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

about  but  just  what  I  said?"  she  inquired  with 
a  new  pathos.  "  I  mean  that  Binks  doesn't 
want  her!"  and  she  buried  her  face  on  his  shoul 
der. 

"O-o-o-h!"  he  breathed  comprehendingly. 
"The  deuce  he  doesn't!  Well,"  with  a  burst  of 
inspiration,  "what  a  blessing  it  is  that  the  rest 
of  us  have  better  taste!" 

Susy's  arm  tightened  about  his  neck;  she  im 
planted  a  damp  kiss  on  his  collar. 

"What  makes  him  think  he  doesn't?"  Tom 
continued  after  an  interval. 

"I  don't  know.  But  he's  made  up  his  mind, 
and  you  know  how  hard  he  is  to  change.  Won't 
it  be  dreadful  if— 

"  Now,  Toots  darling,  try  to  be  a  reasonable 
little  girl !  How  can  Binks  know  anything  about 
what  he  will  like  or  dislike?  Just  wait,  and 
then  we'll  see.  He  doesn't  know  what  he's  talk 
ing  about." 

"You  think  he  doesn't  know  much,  Tom,  but 
you  do  him  a  great  injustice.  He  knows  much 
more  than  you  think.  He  has  a  soul,  as  Aunt 
Emma  says,  and — 

"  My  precious  girl,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
Which  side  are  you  taking?  Do  you  want  to  be 
lieve  that  Binks  doesn't  want— 

"No,  oh  no!" 

257 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF   A    BABY 

"Well,  then,  why  do  you  try  to?  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  however  much  he  knows,  he  can't  know 
about  this,  can  he?  Has  he  ever  had  any  ex 
perience?" 

"N-no." 

"Very  well.  Now  be  a  good,  sensible  girl 
and  don't  cry — it  isn't  good  for  you.  The 
kid  is  probably  jealous  instinctively  —  who 
wouldn't  be?  He's  old  enough  for  that,  at  any 
rate." 

"He's  quite  old  now,  isn't  he,  Tommy?  You 
never  used  to  think  that  we  should  have  a  son 
nearly  five  years  old,  did  you?" 

"Well,"  Mr.  Wilbour  returned  judicially,  "I 
never  thought  we  wouldn't,  you  know.  I  never 
planned  to  have  him  cut  off  in  his  prime." 

"  Do  you  remember  how  he  used  to  laugh 
when  he  was  little?  I  thought  he  never  would 
talk — never!  I  was  so  frightened,  but  I  didn't 
tell  you  so.  I  thought  maybe  he  was  dumb!" 

"For  heaven's  sake!" 

"  Like  the  scarlet  fever,  you  know — they  often 
are." 

"But  Binks  had  never  had  the  scarlet  fever, 
darling." 

"No,  but  I  had,  and  I  thought  maybe— 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  it  ever  happens  that  way," 
said  her  husband  reassuringly. 

258 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

"Well,  you  can't  tell,  Tom.  I've  been  reading 
about  much  stranger  things  than  that." 

"Toots,  have  you  been  at  that  ghastly  book 
again?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed!  If  you 
don't  look  out,  you'll  have  all  those  things,  and 
a  lot  more,  too.  I  wish  I'd  never  got  the  thing. 
If  you  don't  promise  me  you'll  not  open  it  again, 
I  shall  burn  it  this  minute.  And  the  leather 
will  smell  awful." 

"  But,  Tommy,  I  ought  to  know— 

"Nonsense!     Listen    to    me.     Susan,    I    com 
mand   you  not  to  open  that  book.     I  shall  "- 
Tom    quaked   inwardly,   but   preserved  a  brave 
front — "  I  shall  be  seriously  displeased  with  you." 

"Oh,  please  don't  call  me  Susan,  Tom!  I— 
I  won't  look  at  it — truly  I  won't,"  she  murmured 
submissively..  "I'll  have  Binks  sit  on  it  instead 
of  the  dictionary;  he  won't  use  his  high  chair, 
you  know." 

"I  wonder,"  Mr.  Wilbour  suggested,  "if  that's 
what  makes  him  so  argumentative  and  —  and 
wordy,  you  know  —  sitting  on  the  dictionary. 
Now  I  always  used  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  for 
that  purpose,  and  I  feel  I  owe  a  great  deal  to  the 
choice." 

"I  sat  on  bound  volumes  of  Godey's  Ladies' 
Book''  Susy  remarked,  "perhaps  that's  why  I 
never  had  any  more  sense." 

259 


"I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all,"  Tom  agreed  cord 
ially.  "I  mean,"  as  she  stiffened  slightly  in  his 
arms,  "I  mean,  of  course,  how  can  you  suggest 
anything  so  ridiculous!" 

They  both  laughed,  and  rumpling  his  hair  ab 
sent-mindedly,  a  thing  which  he  detested  on  its 
own  grounds,  but  loved  because  Susy  did  it,  Mrs. 
Wilbour  grew  suddenly  serious. 

"Shall  we  always  be  as  silly,  Tommy  dear,  do 
you  think?"  she  inquired. 

"I  hope  so.     Why?" 

"Of  course,  at  first  .  .  .  but  maybe  now  I — we 
ought  to  begin  to —  You  see,  I'm  getting  to  be 
quite  old  and  middle-aged- 
Mr.  Wilbour  hooted  in  unrestrained  mirth. 
"Preserve  us  a'!'  as  the  Scotch  novels  say,"  he 
managed  finally.  "Are  you  going  into  caps? 
You  probably  didn't  hear  old  Mrs.  Sears's  re 
mark  to  the  effect  that  it  seemed  strange  that 
such  a  tomboyish  chit  should  be  the  mother  of— 

"What!  did  she  say  that?  Cross  old  thing! 
It  was  that  Sunday  she  saw  us  in  the  automo 
bile,  and  I  had  on  that  red  tam  and  your  over 
coat.  I  couldn't  freeze  to  death,  could  I?  I 
look  quite  old  enough  in  some  things — that  gray 
broadcloth!  You  know  perfectly  well  I  do!" 

"Certainly,  certainly,  my  dearest,  you  look 
positively  antique — obsolete !  Or  else  not  at  all," 

260 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

he  added  politely,  "whichever  it  is  you  want  to 
establish." 

"And  Binks  said  I  was  a  good  mother  to  him, 
he  did,  truly,"  she  added  seriously. 

"What?     He  said— " 

"Yes.  That  is,  he  said  'pretty  good,'  but  he 
meant  the  same  thing.  It  was  when  he  said  I 
was  the  best  of  any  of  them,  you  know." 

"Oh!  Did  he  present  the  testimonial  entirely 
unsolicited,  like  the  people  that  have  been  cured 
of  things  in  the  papers?" 

"  N-not  exactly.     I  asked  him,"  Susy  confessed. 

Mr.  Wilbour  kissed  her  irrelevantly. 

"Do  you  know,  Toots,  that  you  are  probably, 
from  a  perfectly  unprejudiced  stand-point,  the 
sweetest  thing  in  the  world?"  he  observed. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Tommy?" 

"Do  I?  I  should  say  I  did,"  her  husband  as 
sured  her,  with  so  much  conviction  that  she  lay 
in  a  happy  silence  for  a  while,  the  last  shadow  of 
her  little  sadness  gone. 

"Do  you  remember  when  he  held  himself  up 
by  the  davenport  and  walked?"  she  queried  soft 
ly,  at  length.  Tom  stuffed  some  tobacco  into 
his  pipe,  deftly,  without  disturbing  her,  and 
nodded. 

"He  was  so  sweet,  then!  And  that  bag!  Do 
you  remember  the  bag  Aunt  Emma  made?" 

18  26l 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Tom  chuckled. 

"I  should  think  I  did!" 

"And  the  statues!  Oh,  Tommy,  shall  I  ever 
forget  those  dreadful,  dreadful  things!" 

He  puffed  forcibly.  "  It's  more  than  I  will," 
he  announced  shortly.  Every  one's  sense  of  hu 
mor  has  its  limits,  and  Tom's  stopped  just  short 
of  Aunt  Emma's  well-meant  classicism. 

"And  do  you  remember  how  he  began  to  talk 
all  of  a  sudden,  dear?  That  funny,  mixed -up 
thing  he  said  all  in  one  breath?" 

"Something  about  hot  milk,  wasn't  it?  What 
makes  you  remember  so  much,  to-night?"  he 
added,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  he  can't  be  a  baby 
much  longer,  Tom.  It  will  be  strange  when  he 
goes  to  a  real  school  and  has  marbles  and  roller- 
skates,  won't  it?" 

Tom  grunted  comfortably. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  will  ever  marry  anybody, 
Tom?  How  absurd  —  he  can't,  can  he?  The 
idea!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Tom  suggested  impartial 
ly.  "  He  might.  People  do,  sometimes." 

"But  not  Binks,  Tom!" 

"  Not  if  he  waits  to  get  as  nice  a  girl  as  his  fa 
ther,  certainly!" 

"Oh,  Tommy,  you  do  say  such  sweet  things!" 
262 


THE   MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

"Perhaps  Binks  will  inherit  it,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
bour  complacently,  "in  that  case  he  may  stand 
some  show!" 

But  if  such  an  inheritance  was  Martin's,  it  had 
not  yet  developed,  for  he  seemed  gifted,  at  this 
crisis,  with  a  fiendish  capacity  for  saying  the 
wrong  thing.  For  the  next  few  days  he  moved  in 
an  atmosphere  of  ill-concealed  anxiety.  Veiled 
hints  of  the  future  flew  about  his  head.  Re 
marks  from  Belle:  "You'll  sing  a  different  tune, 
very  soon,  young  man!  .  .  .  Just  wait — we'll  see 
who  gets  the  petting,  now!  .  .  .  You'll  soon  have 
to  take  care  of  yourself,  I  can  tell  you;  better 
let  me  brush  your  hair  while  I  have  the  time!" 
irritated  Jiim  extremely. 

"Why  will  I  see?  I  won't  sing  a  tune!"  he 
cried  resentfully. 

Even  Aunt  Emma,  his  constant  fortress  in 
time  of  trouble,  seemed  to  fail  him  now.  She 
too  was  bitten  with  the  idea  of  a  sister,  and 
discussed  the  advantages  of  this  wholly  imag 
inary  situation  till  he  fairly  lost  patience  with 
her. 

"But  I'd  rather  have  a  goat,  I  tell  you!"  he 
cried  in  vexation. 

"Oh,  Martin!     Don't  say  such  things!" 

"  It  isn't  '  such  things ' !  A  goat  is  nicer.  Why 
^an't  I  have  a  goat  instead,  if  I'd  rather?" 

263 


i 


THE   MEMOIRS   OF    A    BABY 

It  was  hinted  that  both  might  be  forthcom 
ing;  such  generosity  was  unnecessary. 

"But  all  I  want's  the  goat.  A  goat's  enough! 
You  needn't  buy  'em  both,"  he  explained. 

"  But  perhaps  the  rest  of  us  would  like  a 
sister  better.  I  can't  use  a  goat  -  cart,  you 
know." 

"Can  you  use  a  sister?"  he  retorted. 

She  sighed. 

"Perhaps  you  will  feel  differently  about  it, 
later." 

"Where  '11  she  sleep?  There  isn't  any  bed  for 
her.  She  can't  sleep  with  me." 

"Oh,  Martin!" 

"Well,  she  can't.  Do  you  know  what  I'd  do 
if  /  heard  the  bell  ring?" 

"The  bell  ring?" 

"When  she  came.  I'd  run  ahead  of  Belle,  and 
I'd  say,  'Mrs.  Wilbour' — with  an  amazing  imi 
tation  of  Belle's  most  frigid  manner — '  Mrs.  Wil- 
bour's  lying  down  and  she'll  have  to  be  excused 
this  afternoon'!" 

Aunt  Emma  recovered  and  seized  the  opportu 
nity. 

"In  that  case,"  she  observed  neatly,  "I  think 
it  will  be  better  to  be  sure  you're  not  at  home 
when  she  comes,  for  the  rest  of  us  want  her  to 
stay — we  shouldn't  like  her  turned  away  that  way. 

264 


THE    MEMOIRS    Of    A    BABY 

Perhaps  you'd  better  make  a  little  visit  to  Aunty 
Sis." 

"No." 

"  Now  don't  be  obstinate,  Martin.  You  know 
you  wanted  to  go  and  see  Bunny  and  Sally." 

"Well,  I  don't." 

"Nonsense!  you  do.  Just  think,  you  could  be 
in  the  Park  in  two  minutes — it's  no  walk  at  all. 
And  near  the  goats,  too." 

"He  won't  let  me  drive  alone.  He  always 
walks  along." 

"Well,  perhaps  he  will  this  time,  if  Bunny 
goes  with  you." 

"Bunny  has  to  go  to  school." 

"But  not  all  day.  Now  be  a  good  boy,  and 
perhaps  Belle  will  let  you  help  pack  the  suit-case." 

On  the  whole,  he  was  not  sorry  to  go;  he  was 
tired  of  Belle's  mysterious  air,  and  she  cut  his 
walk  short,  of  late,  on  the  ground  that  she  hated 
to  be  away  from  home  so  long.  Bunny  and 
Sally  were  very  kind  to  him,  and  Bunny  even 
stayed  from  school  on  the  second  afternoon  and 
played  in  the  Park  till  dusk.  Sally  put  him  to 
bed  that  night  and  hurried  him  home  the  next 
morning  with  an  air  of  triumphant  mystery  that 
irritated  him  greatly. 

"Why  don't  we  stop  and  see  the  goats?"  he 
complained,  as  proud  in  the  competence  of  twelve 

265 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A    BABY 

careful  years,  she  piloted  him  across  the  street 
in  a  quiet  place. 

"  Because  your  mother  wants  to  see  you,"  she 
replied  primly. 

"What  for?" 

"It's  a  secret." 

"Oh,  you  think  you  know!"  he  cried.  "You 
think  you  know  the  better  than  anybody!" 


'PILOTED  HIM  ACROSS  THE  STREET  IN  A  QUIET  PLACE 
266 


THE   MEMOIRS    OF    A    BABY 

She  smiled  serenely  and  dragged  him  along  to 
his  door. 

Aunt  Emma  met  them,  her  face  very  red,  her 
voice  husky  with  excitement. 

"Come  in,  come  in,  Martin  darling,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "Come  and  see  what  we've  got  up 
stairs!  What  do  you  think?" 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  upon  him. 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  "it's  that  sister!     She's  come!" 

"Guess  again!"  said  his  father,  who,  to  his 
amazement,  appeared  at  that  hour  without  his 
hat  and  coat,  beaming  down  on  him.  "Guess 
again,  old  man!  It's  not  a  sister!" 

His  face  brightened. 

"It's  a  goat!  Is  it  a  goat?"  he  shouted.  "Is 
it  in  my  room?" 

"I  am  afraid,"  answered  Mr.  Wilbour  gravely, 
"  that  you  are  doomed  to  disappointment.  It 
is  not  a  goat.  But  bear  up.  It  is  a  little  broth 
er,  Binks.  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

He  stared  stupidly  at  them. 

"A  little  brother?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  You  didn't  seem  to  like  the  idea  of  a 
sister,  so  we  tried  to  please  you,  you  see.  I  hope 
we  have  succeeded?"  he  added  solicitously. 

But  Martin  still  stared  silently.  "  Don't  you 
see,  darling,"  Aunt  Emma  began,  "it's  not  a 
girl  at  all.  It's  another  little  boy — another  one !" 

267 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP    A    BABY 

He  looked  piercingly  into  her  eyes.  Incredu 
lous  horror  grew  in  his  face. 

"Another?  Like  me?  Like  me?"  he  cried 
wildly. 

"Just  so.  Like  you,"  said  his  father.  He 
wheeled  about  and  faced  them  all  in  succession ; 
Belle  had  just  joined  the  group. 

"Like  me?"  he  repeated,  and  then  with  a 
hardening  of  his  jaw  and  a  settled  frown 
between  his  eyes,  "Where  is  my  hammer?" 
he  demanded  furiously,  "  my  wooden  ham 
mer!" 

The  women  gasped  in  terrified  amazement ;  his 
father  chuckled  regrettably. 

"Come  on,"  he  said  soothingly,  "you'll  feel 
better,  later.  Come  and  see  mother." 

Up  the  stairs  went  Martin  Brinkerhoff  Wil- 
bour,  stamping  violently,  seething  with  just  re 
sentment. 

By  his  mother's  bed  he  paused,  scowling  at  a 
strange  woman  in  the  room  who  smiled  patron 
izingly  at  him. 

"Kiss  mother,  sweetheart,"  said  a  voice. 
Something  in  the  tone  of  it  tugged  at  his  heart: 
he  could  not  but  love  her.  Magnanimously  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"My  own  boy,"  she  whispered,  "see!"  and  she 
stirred  her  arm  slightly. 

268 


THE   MEMOIRS    OP   A    BABY 

He  looked.  What  pitiful  thing  did  he  behold! 
A  comprehending  tolerance  swept  over  him. 
This  was  not  what  he  had  feared. 

"Oh!"  he  murmured.     "Oh,  that!" 

"That  is  the  baby,  yes,"  she  said,  so  sweetly, 
so  winningly.  "  Will  you  love  him?" 

He  glanced  around  at  them,  to  be  sure  of  their 
respectful  attention  before  he  began  his  noble  and 
noteworthy  reply.  But  what?  In  all  that  room 
there  was  no  eye  for  him!  Belle  was  kneeling 
adoringly  by  the  bed,  Aunt  Emma  was  bending 
over  the  foot  of  it,  his  father  sat  on  the  side  of  it, 
with  one  arm  around  its  occupant.  Even  the 
strange  woman  regarded  not  Martin,  the  proper 
centre  of  interest.  To  all  intents  and  purposes 
he  was  not  there!  It  struck  him  with  terrible 
force  that  all  was  changed;  they  loved  that  other 
one  now. 

His  chin  quivered,  his  haughty  mien  dissolved, 
he  gulped,  and  a  large,  wet  tear  trickled  down  his 
cheek. 

Suddenly  Aunt  Emma  looked  up  from  the 
bed  and  saw  him,  a  pathetic  figure  among 
them.  Remorse  surged  over  her,  and  she 
ran  around  to  him  and  caught  him  in  her 
arms. 

"Martin!  Oh,  Martin!"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  sort  of  sob.  "  Don't  you  mind,  darling,  don't 

270 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

you  mind!  You  are  Aunt  Emma's  own  baby— 
you  shall  always  be!  Always!  You  shall  be 
my  baby!" 

He  struggled  from  her  arms  and  dashed  the 
tears  from  his  eyes.  His  hands  slipped  into  the 
pockets  of  his  ridiculous  trousers  unconsciously. 


I  M    NOT    ANYBODY  S     BABY 


"Pooh!"  he  said,  catching  his  father's  eye 
defiantly,  "  pooh  !  I'm  not,  either.  I'm 
not  anybody's  baby.  That's  a  baby.  I'm  a 
boy!" 

271 


THE   MEMOIRS   Of   A   BABY 

"That's  right,  old  man,"  cried  Tom,  reaching 
out  to  him,  "so  you  are.     Shake  hands!" 
The  reign  of  Martin  the  First  was  ended. 


THE    END 


